#> bites my hand. and also his. in a familial way i feel like i have to clarify. ignore my carrd its out of date | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gojorgeous · 5 months

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"creature of myth."

pairing: vampire!gojo x fem!human!reader summary: when you receive an offer of marriage from a mysterious wealthy lord, it’s too good a deal for your family to turn down. but nothing could be so perfect... right? content: MDNI (18+ ONLY), dark content, nsfw, gets dubcon/noncon in some spots, yandere behavior from gojo, implied death/k*lling of a character (not reader or gojo), arranged marriage, victorian au, plot that ends with porn lmao, spooky dooky vibes, blood, blood sucking/eating, praise, biting, unprotected sex, creampie, virgin!reader, discussion of virginity, cherry popping, pain, pet names (princess/love), reader is highkey clueless about sex, discussion of masturbation, ideas of masturbation as “sinful”, very minor religious themes, fated “mates”, gojo is highkey insane, coercion and manipulation, like SO much neck kissing, ooc gojo??? (had to alter his character to match a victorian vampire lord LMAO). a/n: PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. THERE IS DARK CONTENT AHEAD. is this a gojo fic or a twilight fic?? Going back to my roots fr fr. straight down to the “SAY IT, SAY IT”. this fic is also way too long my apologies bbs. i hope you like a hefty side of plot with your porn. parts of this fic feel way too cheesy to me but sometimes i eat that up, yk?? this fic was inspired by this amazing work by @rice5x ! and, finally, thank you all for the support on my most recent fics. i'm just getting back into being active on this blog and it's been amazing reading each and every comment/reblog/ask. they genuinely fill me with so much joy. keep them coming hehe. anyway, i hope you enjoy and remember, ALL AGELESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED. credits: dividers by @cafekitsune. banner art by @ndsoda on twitter. wc: 11.6k (sowwy)

You remember perfectly the way your mother’s jaw dropped when Satoru Gojo proposed to you. You’d never seen the man, and you still hadn’t. He’d asked to marry you via messenger, a simple letter delivered by hand with a list of all the things he’d be willing to pay for your hand. Offers of money, land, protection, connection- anything so long as he got you. You’d thought it was a joke. Your father nearly took a shovel to the head of the poor messenger, thinking the letter was some kind of cruel prank, some sort of targeted disrespect. You’d only started to believe when you really looked- saw the Gojo crest embroidered on the man’s suit, the fine leather of his boots. If it was a prank, somebody had spent a great deal of money and effort to pull it off.

You’d asked for proof nonetheless, and you’d gotten it. Documents signed and sealed with a well-known waxen crest, gifts that could only have been purchased by a wealthy lord. The one thing you never got was the lord himself. He refused to see you, to come down from his mysterious castle on the hill. It didn’t surprise you. He rarely deemed town worthy of his presence. He had a reputation as a recluse, as a man who only ever liked to see and never be seen. What little glimpses people got of him were usually through the dark window of his carriage. Still, his appearance preceded him. White hair, light eyes… “haunting” said those who had the luck to see him. Those who went to work for the lord tended to return… changed— if they returned at all.

You accepted, of course. How could you not? You were a peasant family with no status or wealth to your name. The promises Lord Gojo had made would make your parents into aristocrats all on their own. But that left you wondering… why did he want you? You offered him no benefit. If anything, you sullied his bloodline. The question scratched at the back of your mind. It came to you while you ate breakfast, while you washed your clothes, while you weeded in the garden. Some part of you told you that you needed the answer before you ever stepped foot in that castle. You needed that answer, but you’d never get it.

Your wedding wasn’t even a wedding- just a piece of paper that had already been signed and witnessed, once again delivered by a familiar messenger. You signed at your dining room table and… that was that. You were married.

Later that night the carriages arrive. Men flood your home, all dressed in blue velvet, the Gojo crest embroidered on their chests. They seem puzzled when you tell them you’ve packed all your belongings into a measly three bags.

You say a quick goodbye to your parents, drawing them into stiff embraces. You love them, and they love you, but you can’t bear to see their faces as they send you away to a man who couldn’t even show his face for your wedding.

The carriage ride is somehow longer than you’d thought it would be- apparently, the castle’s size makes it seem deceptively close. The trip is rocky and twisty and altogether unpleasant as you steadily make your way toward the castle gates. By the time you reach them you think you’ve probably dozed in and out of consciousness at least half a dozen times.

The castle is even more intimidating up close. Spires that swirl into the clouds, sculptures that stare, doors that look more suited to being locked than opened. It’s… terrifying.

When you finally roll to a stop, you move for the door. When you swing it open you get your fair share of strange looks from your attendants and remember that you should have waited for the footman. Your face heats as you climb out anyway, unwilling to subject yourself to the further humiliation of waiting for assistance.

Your feet hit gravel and all you can do is stare- up, up, up, to where the castle’s peaks disappear into the fog. When your eye flashes to a window on the east side of the manor you think you see a swaying curtain. You tuck your arms around yourself and shiver, but it’s not from the cold.

You nearly stumble over your feet on your first step inside. The entrance hall is larger than your former house, with ceilings that stretch so high you can hardly make out the figures on the frescoes that adorn it. Silver and blue drape everywhere, the Gojo family colors. You swallow when you see a chair that is most definitely worth more than your family’s annual income.

The floors are marble and when your worn heels clack against it, you only feel reminded that you don’t belong here. That question pricks in your mind again as you pass portraits of every Gojo heir to have lived in the last three hundred years. Why me? Why me? Why me?

Your footman deposits you in your room, a place more lavish than you’ve ever seen. You have a four poster bed with a canopy of blue velvet, a window that overlooks a sprawling estate, and more square footage than you’ve ever dreamed of.

“Pull this if you need any sort of assistance, ma’am.”

You turn to see your footman referencing a silver cord at your bedside. You assume it’s one of those contraptions that rings a bell in the servants’ quarters. You try to hide your amazement- you’ve never seen one in real life before.

You clear your throat and give your most ladylike nod. “Thank you, um-” you pause, your brow furrowing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I asked your name.”

Your footman appears stunned to silence, like he’d never expected you to care about his existence, much less his name. He recovers quickly, though, and forces a small smile. “Thomas, ma’am.”

You smile and it’s genuine. “Thank you, Thomas.”He bows and makes a beeline for the door, but you have one more question. “Oh, um, Thomas-” He freezes, turning slowly on his heel to face you.

“Yes, my lady?”

You cringe at the title. The sound of it creeps across your skin, foreign and… wrong. Why me? Why me? Why me?

You clear your throat again. “Do you know, um, well-” You shift, trying to word your question properly. “Do you know when I might see the Lord?”

There is a pause, a moment of tension and silence, and then an answer. “No, my lady.”

Thomas does not stick around for more questioning. The door clicks shut behind him and then you're left with only the sound of retreating footsteps.

You’re stunned to say the least, mouth still halfway open, more questions on the tip of your tongue. Should you seek him out? Was that proper? Would he come to you? Would he meet you for dinner, perhaps? Surely he would come to your room tonight to… consummate. Would that be the first time you lay eyes on him? When he’s over you?

You sigh. There’s nothing much to be done about it now. You find your way to the bed and sit down hesitantly. It feels like a crime to rumple such primped and polished cotton. You do it anyway- it’s going to happen sometime, right? You fall back against the mattress and don’t fail to notice how utterly comfortable it is. The silvery patterns on your canopy swirl and bend together. You’re tired. You didn’t sleep much last night, anxious for the morning… and it’s only mid-afternoon now. You had time for a nap, right? Your eyes are closing before you can convince yourself it’s a bad idea and then you’re swept away into a world of warm darkness.

You wake with a start. Your first thought is that it’s dark now. Your room is pitch black except for the stream of moonlight passing through your stupidly large window. Your mouth feels dry and your skin is cold, like you’ve just woken from a nightmare. If you have, you don’t remember it. Perhaps that’s a blessing.

You sit up, combing a finger through your hair and laughing pitifully when you realize that you left your shoes on as you slept. You hope Thomas didn’t walk in to find you in yet another unladylike position. A glance at the foot of the bed reveals he might have. Your bags have arrived- all three of them. You eye them with a combination of longing and contempt. They don't match this place. They’re worn and used- everything here is shiny and new. Still, they’re all you have, and all you have left of your life before. All you have left of home.

You stretch your arms above your head, nearly groaning at the burn in your muscles. The carriage ride did your body no favors and you suspect you’ll be sore for many days to come.

You rise, no longer content to lie in bed. You’ve had your rest and, from the state of darkness outside, you suspect your new husband might be joining you soon. The thought twists a certain tightness into your gut, but you push it aside. If that was the price you paid for all he gave your family… then you’d pay it gladly.

You start with candles, finding a box of matches at your bedside. You light every candelabra you can find. The room, the castle, seems so perpetually… black- like it soaks up every ray of light it touches. Even when you’ve finished it doesn’t feel like enough. You make a note to ask Thomas for more in the morning.

You find a meal, carefully prepared and preserved, on a table near your dresser. Judging by the fact that it’s still warm, you conclude that it can’t be much past mid-evening. You originally intend to pick at the food as you unpack, but one bite has your mouth watering. It is the most delicious thing to ever touch your lips, complete with dessert waiting on the side. You clean your plate before moving onto your bags.

You lay your clothes out on the bed. A few dresses, riding pants, undergarments, an assortment of ribbons and bows. At one time these items had been the finest things you owned- now you owned a castle.

You find an armoire that looks like a master sculptor carved its edges and grab a dress, intending to hang it. Instead, your dress hits the floor when you part the doors to find the hangers already full. Your lips part. Luxury dresses of silk and satin line the rack, fading into some that appear more casual outfits of cotton and linen. You stretch a hand out, curious and utterly… amazed. To think your new husband had gone to all the effort… Your hand brushes purple silk and-

“Do you like them?”

You screech, jumping to face the voice at your back. It takes a moment for your eyes to find him, leaning casually against one post of your bed. Your breath is stolen for a second time. Snow white hair, piercingly blue eyes, pale soft skin… you know who he is even without looking at his dress, at the air of authority he claims. He’s your husband… and he is the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

He laughs, then, and it’s a warmer sound than you’d thought it would be- rich and full. A sound that seeps into your bones and settles in your soul.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, but the twinkle in his eyes makes you think that perhaps that’s a lie.

Your heart pounds and your eyes flash to the door. It’s shut. You didn’t hear it open, nor did you hear it close behind him. You also didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t hear breaths, didn’t hear him.

He follows your gaze and laughs again, though it sounds a bit… strained?

“I have a habit of being unintentionally lightfooted. I apologize.”

Your heart is still pounding but you find it in yourself to have some decorum. You snap your jaw shut and bow your head slightly in respect. “You must be Lord Gojo. Forgive me for my insolence.”

There’s a beat, and then footsteps– ones you actually hear this time. You clench your jaw when he stops before you and then nearly gasp when he takes your hand and brings it to his lips.

“Satoru, please,” he winks and you think you might stop breathing. “I am your husband after all.”

You force yourself to nod, to swallow, to act normal. But how can you in the presence of a man that looks like… that? There’s something too unreal about him, too perfect. It’s almost… unsettling.

“Of course… Satoru.”

He straightens and shows you a close-lipped smile that digs a dimple into his left cheek. You have to look away to avoid stumbling over your own feet.

“So, do you like them?” Your brows furrow- “The dresses,” he clarifies.

“O-oh.” Your features relax into an easy smile. You turn back to your armoire, running a hand along another gown. You don’t think you’ve ever touched something so… finely made. “I like them very much. I don’t know how to thank you.”

There’s a little chuckle as you turn to face him again and you have to steel yourself before you meet his eyes. He’s mesmerizing, too mesmerizing. You think you could probably lose yourself in those eyes forever…

“No need to thank me. If they don’t fit, we’ll call for the seamstress in the morning.”

You nod softly, still lost to the situation. There’s a beat of silence in which your husband does nothing but… look at you. His eyes roam freely and the hair on your arms stands under his gaze. He traces the lines of your nose and jaw and lingers on your pulse. Can he see just how fast your heart is pounding?

“Did you… get dinner?” It’s a stupid question, you know, but you don’t think you can bear another second of that look he’s giving you. “I fell asleep and found a plate. I hope I didn’t prevent a proper meal…” You trail off. Perhaps you shouldn’t have pointed out your own shortcoming?

He gives you another smile and you swear he inches just a little closer. “You did no such thing. I’m… perfectly satisfied.”

You nod, glad that he doesn’t seem upset at the very least. Your lips press together, unsure of what to do or say. You’ve never had a husband before. Wasn’t he supposed to just sort of… put you on the bed and… do it?

Your eyes flit to said bed and your husband must see because he hurries to continue.

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning then, hm?” His eyes flit to your armoire and back again. “Wear the blue dress with the lace to breakfast, yeah? Been dying to see it on you.” He chuckles like he’s just told some sort of amusing joke.

Your brows furrow. That was… not the topic you’d been expecting. “You’re not…” You feel your cheeks heat and tighten your jaw. “Not staying the night?”

His lashes lower a fraction and those eyes pierce you again. You don’t think you could move even if you wanted to, even with him prowling closer, each step eating up the space between you. He doesn’t stop until you’re nose to nose and you can feel his breath fanning over your cheeks. It’s cold somehow, chilling, and you shiver. He smirks.

“Not tonight.”

His head dips and for a moment you think he’s going to kiss you, but then he’s bypassing your mouth altogether and- his lips connect to your pulse. His mouth is cool, just like his breath, and you shiver uncontrollably under his touch.

His touch is just a fleeting moment, just a wrinkle in time, and then he’s gone. His footsteps are quiet brushes on the hardwood and the creak of the door even seems tamed in his presence.

“Goodnight,” is all he says, and then he’s gone.

You climb into your bed an hour later wondering what in the world just happened.

You do wear the blue dress to breakfast and you can only gape in the mirror when you realize that it fits perfectly. It has you second-guessing yourself. Had you sent your measurements in advance and forgotten about it? No, you’d only sent a handful of pieces of information to the Lord prior to your marriage and you remembered all of them very clearly. Everything had gone through a messenger, everything had been clear and direct– you would have remembered sending your measurements– you didn’t. So had he just… guessed?

That seemed impossible with how everything fit you like a glove, but it was the only explanation you had. The only one that made sense.

When you join Satoru for breakfast it’s in a sitting room as lavishly decorated as the rest of the castle, but perhaps organized to be a bit more… liveable. He has no plate in front of him, only a tin cup that hides the contents of whatever he’s drinking. You assume coffee or juice. Perhaps he’s just not a breakfast person.

“It fits!” he says. His hands clasp together in front of him and he smiles again, dimples and all.

You nod and fight the heat that bubbles beneath your cheeks as you take your seat. “Yes, perfectly.”

A plate is set before you and a glance up reveals it’s Thomas serving your breakfast. You smile, hoping for some acknowledgement from him, for a small piece of comfort. Instead, you get his averted gaze and quick retreat. Your brows furrow, but before you can say anything, Satoru is back to speaking.

“I hope Thomas treated you well yesterday?”

You glance up, but Satoru’s eyes aren’t on you, they’re on your footman. His smile is bright, but it’s anything but friendly. You fight a shiver.

You glance at Thomas. He’s perfectly still, perfectly straight, but you think you see a muscle clench in his jaw. You clear your throat. “Y-Yes. Thomas was very helpful.” When Satoru keeps staring the boy down you add, “-and very respectful.”

That seems to satisfy. Satoru breaks his stare and some of the tension in the air instantly eases. He shoots you another dimpled smile, this one with a little more warmth. “Perfect.”

There’s a beat and then he’s standing, draining whatever he has in his cup and then straightening his jacket. “Well, I have some work to do. I’ll see you for dinner?” He’s grinning again, like it’s so normal for a man to abandon his bride on their wedding night and then again the morning after. All you can do is nod. He chuckles. “See you then, princess.” And then he’s gone.

If this is to be your life you don't know how you will survive it. You spend the day milling about. Through the gardens, through the castle, through the stables. Thomas is never far behind, but any attempt at conversation is nipped in the bud by hit shortness. It’s like he fears coming too close. He’s never closer than a couple paces except when he has to bring you something, only to retreat again as soon as possible. The other servants barely pay you any mind apart from giving you a respectful greeting and then immediately averting their eyes. There is no work to be done, no guests to be had, no parties to plan… and no Satoru. You don’t see your husband once on tour around the grounds. You ask Thomas where his office is only for him to vaguely point out a window in the east tower. You don’t see so much as a ripple in the curtains.

Dinner comes around at the pace of a snail. When it’s finally time to get dressed a lady’s maid whose name you don’t even catch arrives to help you lace your dress. As soon as your corset is deemed tight enough she’s back out the door with a curtsy. Thomas leads you to the dining room and your eyes roam the whole way. Even after having spent the whole day exploring, there are halls and corridors that you’ve yet to step foot in.

The dining room is just as gorgeous as the rest of the place– filled with singular items that could feed entire families for years. Somehow, you think you’ve already grown accustomed to such things, since the only thing you truly care to look at is your husband. Satoru’s already seated, but he stands when you enter, looping around the table to pull a chair out for you.

You give him your most genuine smile, accepting a kiss to your knuckles in greeting before you settle. “How was your day?” you ask as he takes his seat again.

He chuckles. “Perfectly fine. And how was yours, princess?” Your nose crinkles. That’s the second time he’s called you that. Something about it feels wrong. You’re still getting used to being a lady. Princess feels even worse.

“It was… good.”

You watch a perfect white brow arch in the candlelight. “Oh? Just good?” You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker to the corner– to Thomas.

You hurry to elaborate. “Well, I just– I can’t help but feel as if there’s not much… use for me.” Servants flood in, some carrying wine, others carrying trays that hold more food than the both of you could ever possibly consume.

That brow arches impossibly higher. “Use?” His lips crack into that smile again, but it’s tight this time. Too tight. “You have no use. You only enjoy yourself. Surely Thomas has told you that.”

A plate of steaming food plops in front of you. Even its heavenly smell can’t quell the sudden dread in your gut. “Of course! Of course he did.” Your stomach twists and you decide that perhaps now is not the time to press the subject. “I’ll just… I’ll try riding tomorrow.” You hate riding, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind.

Satoru’s smile thaws into something less menacing. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy that.”

You nod eagerly. “I’m sure I will.”

You grab your fork, eager for a new subject. From what you can tell, dinner is roast chicken and vegetables, though it’s the luxury version as everything seems to be. The spices are intoxicating and the green beans are even arranged in a pretty little pattern that makes them look too good to eat. You do anyway. The first bite nearly makes you moan, but you chew slowly, delicately, trying not to let your upbringing show.

It’s not until several bites later that you realize you’re the only one eating. A quick glance reveals your husband has no platter, no chicken or green beans. He’s only… watching you. You clear your throat, dabbing at your lips with a napkin.

“You’re not… eating?”

That permanent smile grows a little wider and you can’t help but feel as if there’s something… menacing about it. “Ate before I came.”

Your brows furrow. “Oh. Were you on the road?”

You think you see something wild flash in his eyes. “No.”

The rest of dinner passes slowly, almost painfully. Satoru doesn’t eat a bite, doesn’t even look enticed. You wonder how that’s possible when it smells like a spice bomb went off in the dining room.

By the time you’ve cleared your plate you’ve discussed everything from the number of horses in the stables to kinds of crops grown on the estate. It’s comforting to know a little more about your new home, but it’s not enough.

“Is there a library?” you ask. You’re on dessert now. It’s the best chocolate cake you’ve ever had and it takes everything in you to hold back a moan each time it touches your tongue.

“Of course.” Your husband’s eyes flicker to Thomas again and you’re honestly starting to fear for the poor footman’s life. Everytime you ask a question it’s like Satoru is angry it hasn’t already been answered. “It’s yours to use as you please.”

You smile lightly. “Perfect. Thank you.”

He softens a bit at that. “Is there anything specific you wanted to read about?”

You shrug. “The estate, I suppose. I should know my home’s history, no?”

His eyes get that wild look again, that sparkle that you know speaks to nothing good. “Oh, absolutely. I have some personal favorites to recommend. I’ll leave them aside for you?”

You swallow and give him a shallow nod. “That would be perfect. Thank you.”

He chuckles. “My pleasure.”

When dessert is finally over, you stand slowly. Satoru’s not far behind you, saying he’ll walk you to your room. Your heart leaps at his words. Will he stay with you tonight?

He offers you his arm in the hall and your mouth runs dry when you feel the corded muscle beneath his jacket. By the time you reach your room, you’re thinking of tugging him in behind you. His denial to stay with you last night was not only confusing, but… off putting. Nearly offensive. Did he not like how you looked? Did he think something was wrong with you?

You muster all the courage you possess and force your lips apart. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

His eyes spark again and you hold your breath. He presses closer. This is it, you think. His lips hover over yours, eyes glimmering in the candlelight. And then he dips his head, his mouth pressing to your pulse.

“Not tonight,” he whispers– and then he’s gone.

You wake suddenly. It’s the middle of the night, you gather. The light streaming through the window is weak enough to only be that of the moon.

Your heart is pounding and your skin is slick with sweat despite the chill in your bones. A nightmare, you think. It must have been a nightmare.

As you settle back into your sheets you swear you see a ripple in the darkness. You close your eyes. If your nightmare is real, you’d rather not see it coming.

The library is huge. It’s sprawling and smells of paper and leather and everytime Thomas lights a candle you flinch at the idea that one misplaced spark could end thousands of years of knowledge.

The books Satoru left you are… perfect. Just what you were looking for. They’re all comprehensive volumes of the history of the estate, many of which reference each other. You’re stunned to see that several are written by very well-known authors of both the past and the present. You knew the Gojo family’s influence reached far, but not that far. You peruse the titles. The Gojos: A History, A History of the Gojo Crest, History of the Gojo Castle, Revisiting the Gojo Family: A Comprehensive History. Altogether you have well over a few thousand pages of information– but there’s one book that doesn’t fit with the rest. It’s relatively unassuming. A black cover with some sort of gold rune etched onto its front. When you flip to the title page it reads “Creatures of Myth and Where To Find Them”. Your brows furrow. You slide it to the side– must have gotten mixed in with the others, you think.

You ask Thomas to bring the books to your room. He does. Very respectfully. He sets them on your bedside table and then retreats like a kicked puppy with only a polite goodbye. You sigh. His behavior has only gotten stranger in the past few days. You think the servants’ coldness must have something to do with Satoru, but you can’t figure out why. Had he ordered them to stay away? Why would he?

You decide it’s a question for another day and dive into your books. You spend hours, days, reading every chapter, page, and word. The pure amount of information is dizzying. Apparently this specific estate had been in the hands of the Gojo family since the eighth century (with several razings and consequential rebuilds). You also learn that Satoru was not only the most wealthy lord on the continent, but the most wealthy man. Even wealthier than the king apparently, though that fact was kept fairly under wraps to protect the crown’s ego. The estimates of your husband’s net worth made your head spin.

Satoru joins you for breakfast and dinner every day. You never see him eat a morsel. It’s… unsettling to say the least. It’s always just that tin cup, filled with something you could never quite see. You develop a pattern of waking in the night, too, with the overwhelming sense that something is watching you. Sometimes you could swear you feel the bed shift as you jerk awake. Each time you simply close your eyes and try your best to slow your heart, convinced your mind is playing tricks on you.

Your days feel a little more productive with a book in your hands, but you’ve read them all three times over by the time a fortnight has passed. You find yourself packing them up to return to Thomas when a certain black cover catches your attention. You grab it from the pile and settle back into your seat. You’ve nothing better to do, right?

You flip back the cover, revealing a familiar title. “Creatures of Myth and Where to Find Them”. You don’t recognize the author’s name. A quick scroll through the table of contents reveals nothing particularly interesting, but you pick a random chapter on ghouls and decide to start there.

It’s fascinating. Nothing about the style is boring and the words fly by. Your silly little myth book is a page turner. By the time you notice the light has started dying you’ve read about ghosts, fairies, werewolves, and goblins– all of which have been a delightful little read. A glance at the clock reveals you have a half hour before dinner. One more chapter, you think. Your eyes skim the title. “Vampires [Vampyr]”.

You skim the first paragraphs until your eyes settle on a line that catches your eye.

“Contrary to popular belief, vampires are not always crazed blood-hungry monsters. Many live among humans quite comfortably and are able to avoid detection with a little well-placed effort.”

You purse your lips. What a… terrifying thought. You skim a little further.

“A vampire’s key characteristic is, of course, their desire and need to drink human blood as sustenance. However, a vampire can be spotted sooner if one is able to recognize their subtler traits. Vampires often have skin lacking any sort of flush. The lack of blood in their veins results in a sickly pallor, even after the most rigorous exercise. Their skin is also noticeably cold to the touch. At best, a vampire’s body will reach room temperature. Vampires can also be noted for their preternatural beauty. They will stand out as the most attractive person in any crowd. Finally, a vampire will have fangs. If one wishes to identify a vampire, one only needs a good look at their teeth”.

A chill settles over your skin. You flip ahead a few pages.

“Vampires are unable to consume typical human food. Should they attempt to, their bodies will immediately reject any and all foreign substances.”

Your stomach drops. You don’t want to think about why. You skip the rest of the paragraph.

“Vampires possess several supernatural abilities that set them apart as a human’s predator rather than their equal. Vampires are known to move unnaturally fast and are notably light footed. If a vampire does not wish to be heard, they will not be. A vampire’s strength is inhuman, well over ten times that of the average man. They also have a penchant for darkness, an ability to hide away in the shadows that cannot be explained. Oftentimes they will seem to appear from thin air.”

You skip ahead again.

“Vampires have been known to take mates. Mates usually come in the form of another vampire, but in some cases a human has been chosen. Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly. Oftentimes, vampires make these decisions with haste, with little regard for whether or not the threat was real. A vampire will do everything in their power to please their mate, but have been known to forcibly restrain their mates in situations of unrequited feelings. Above all else, vampires wish to possess their mates. Two bonded vampires will sometimes spiral into gloriously destructive fits in their endless desire to protect and possess one another. A vampire bonded to a human will show an increasingly protective nature, often isolating their mate from others.”

Your heart pounds. A bead of sweat rolls down your back. You flip the pages, desperate– desperate for a piece of information that will save you from the thoughts spilling in your mind, from the thoughts you will do anything not to believe. You reach the “Where to Find Them” subsection and nearly gasp with relief. Surely, vampires do not pose as wealthy lords of Europe?

“Vampires can be found everywhere. They do not exist in only one country or continent, but all over the world. Odds are that you have faced at least one vampire in your life, unknowingly or not. Some vampires choose to live solitary lives, surviving in the wilderness where human society will not attempt to tame their wild nature. Others choose to live among humans, some even existing in positions of very high authority.”

No, no, no. This can’t be happening to you. It can’t be real. You’re dreaming, you’re having one of those nightmares again. You’re going to wake up any second.

“One tale recounts a razing of the Gojo estate in the 12th century.”

You’re panting, hyperventilating. This isn’t happening.

“Soldiers of the enemy force recounted a singular man, the son and heir of the then Lord Gojo, taking out a minimum of 800 men. He was described as having his family’s characteristic white hair as well as blue eyes. Eyewitness accounts depict the Gojo heir as covered in blood and killing savagely and with inhuman strength.”

No, no, no.

“(See next page for only existing portrait)”

Your fingers tremble but you can’t stop them. There’s no way. It’s not possible.

You flip the page and Satoru stares back at you.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

You nearly scream. Your door rattles angrily, but you’re not sure you can answer it, not with the knowledge flooding your mind. The knocking continues. You run your hand over your face and smooth down your hair. You feel frazzled, dirty, despite not having moved from your chair all day. Another knock prompts you to set your book aside and stand. You do your best to compose yourself, to put on a straight face. You fail instantly when you pull back the door not to reveal your faithful attendant, not Thomas, but Satoru.

You bite back a shriek and instead force a smile. You’re suddenly very aware of the blood pounding in you veins and of the fact that he most likely knows.

“Hello,” he says, but his voice is lower than usually, more intense.

You force a breath into your lungs. “Hello,” you answer, but it sounds more like a squeak than a greeting.

Something flashes in his eyes, something familiar, something that is no longer interesting but rather terrifying. “Are you alright? You seem a little… flushed.” The concern on his face feels anything but genuine.

“I’m fine,” you answer, but even you can tell that reply too quickly, too eagerly. You rush to cover it up. “Is it time for dinner? Where’s Thomas?”

His lip twitches and you see a muscle in his jaw flex. “Thomas has… left us.”

No. This wasn’t happening to you. There was no way this was happening to you.

“He… what?” There’s an unmistakable wobble in your voice that only causes Satoru’s face to fall further.

“It’s no matter. He’s gone. Now it’s just you and me, hm?” He chuckles and the sound rattles your bones. “In fact, I was thinking I’d cut down on the number of servants we have entirely…”

You mind races with the memory of knowledge you wish you didn’t have. “Vampires are fiercely protective of their mates, bordering on obsession. Any person deemed a threat to their bond or their mate’s safety is usually disposed of quickly.”

You nearly stumble, but lean against the doorframe just in time. Your husband had disposed of a man, all because he brought you meals and books?

“What have you been up to today, princess?” The question breaks your trance just in time for you to see your husband’s eyes flicker behind you.

You wet your lips. “Just some reading.” You plead that he doesn’t ask anything further. He does.

“About the estate?” he asks.

You nod and try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Yes.”

His smile returns and this time it’s not forced. “You got my books, then?”

You try smiling back, but you’re fairly sure it looks more like a grimace. “Yes.”

“Anything interesting?” he presses.

This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Does he know? Does he know that you know? “Yes, of course. Lots.”

He pauses and you see the debate and then the decision in his eyes. You think it’s the first time you’ve felt true terror when he meets your gaze again. “I think we should skip dinner tonight. It seems we have so much to discuss.”

You don’t even have the wherewithal to scream when he steps into you, forcing you back until he’s shutting your door behind him. He doesn’t stop there, though. He keeps pressing, keeps pushing until your knees hit the bed and you’re falling to the mattress. He crawls right after you.

“Who knew my little wife was such a reader? All those books in such a short time… You must be simply spilling with information.”

You retreat across the mattress, squeaking when your back hits the headboard and his arms cage your waist. You’re trapped.

His hands find your hips and you’re all too aware of how cool his touch is. Even more so when he pulls you right into his lap.

“Satoru-” your voice is pitiful, breathless, and you’re ashamed to say it’s not just from the fear in your gut. He’s never been this close before, never touched you, held you like this. “Thomas-”

“Don’t speak his name.” His face pulls into the first scowl you’ve ever seen and the sight is enough to root you to the spot. Never have you seen anything more frightening. A creature so beautiful, so perfectly angelic, filled with an insurmountable rage. It’s wrong. “He’s gone. He’ll never bother you again.” He’s closer now, his breath skating over your skin. It’s cool and now you know the reason why.

You shake and tremble and you know– Thomas is dead. Your husband killed him– killed him for getting too close when all he did was stay at a distance. Satoru killed him. Killed him.

He buries himself in your neck, his voice a near whine. “Thought I could put up with it, just so you’d have someone to take care of you…” He groans. “I was so wrong, princess. Couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t stand the way you smelled more like him than me…”

You feel him melt against you then, relief washing over his body in a wave. “But he’s gone. And now it’s just you and me, hm? Just you and me…” He hums, like remembering that fact is all he’s ever needed.

He’s kissing your pulse again, now, and your heart is racing faster than ever. Your fingers curl into his shoulders. You should push him away, away, away. He’s a killer, of thousands no doubt. You’ve never felt at home here, never felt like you belonged. This is why. You’re not even the same species. He’s something else, something your hands were never meant to touch.

Your mind screams at you to do go, to shove and kick at him and leave this place behind. Go, go, go your gut says… but you don’t. You can’t. It’s too… good. The feeling of his cool lips against your skin, of what you’re sure is his tongue prodding at your pulse… it’s intoxicating. He is intoxicating. How could anyone blame you for wanting more of someone, something, so divine?

“Have you figured it out yet, love?” Your breath hitches and he chuckles, licking a long stripe up your neck, before he settles back at your pulse. Always your pulse. “I can feel those little gears turning. Tell me, what have they discovered?”

He knows you know. But he’s going to make you say it. You swallow and feel his grip on you tighten. “You’re…” Your breaths come faster. You can’t. Not aloud. Aloud makes it too… real.

“Yessss?” he prods. He’s licking at you again, all the way across your throat to find your other pulse-point.

“You’re not…” Something sharps nicks at your skin and you bite your lip to hold back a whimper.

“Go on, princess.” You think he’s just smelling you now, just burying his face as close to you as possible and taking you in.

You close your eyes tightly, holding back tears. “Not human,” you breathe. A piece of you breaks with the admission.

He huffs a little laugh against your skin and pulls back to look you in the eye. “That’s good,” he purrs. “But I think you can be a little more specific, no?” His lips press to your chin, then the corner of your mouth, then down to your jaw… “Tell me.”

Your lips wobble, muscles clenching tighter with each passing moment. You don’t want to say it, don’t want to speak it into existence, but you also don’t dare to disobey him.

“You’re a…” You shake and tremble. He draws a line up your neck with the tip of his nose.

“Mhm?”

You open your eyes, thinking this might be the last time you see. “Vampire.”

He chuckles and you feel his teeth press to the skin of your neck. “That’s right, princess. So smart.”

He smiles and you suddenly realize you’ve never seen his teeth before. Everytime he smiles at you it’s close-lipped and dimpled. But this… this is the smile of a predator– all white and pointy and fitted with a set of menacingly long fangs. You sob at the sight.

“Shhhhh,” he coos. He has your chin in his hand, forcing you to truly look at him, to see him for what he is. “I won’t hurt you, love.” You want to believe him so badly it burns, but his laugh washes away any fire and turns it to ice. “Not unless you want me to.” He wiggles a brow like it’s just a little joke, like he’s not an actual fucking vampire that had his fangs over your neck just moments ago.

“Satoru,” you beg. You’re not sure what you’re begging for. Release maybe? But, no, that’s not right. You don’t want him to let you go, not when you finally have him close after all this time. “Why did you pick me?”

The question slips out. You hadn’t even been thinking about it, hadn’t even noticed it scratching at the walls of your mind, but it made its way out nonetheless.

His brow creases, but not in confusion. Moreso in… thoughtfulness. “Do you think about that a lot, princess?”

You nod and you suddenly want him closer, want him to touch you everywhere, hold you like his life depends on it. You want him, no matter how horrible it might be.

He nods and hums, kissing the tip of your nose lightly. “Well…” he says. His thumb swipes over your lips when he leans in to whisper in your ear. “At first I wanted you for this.” His head dips to your neck again and you feel the familiar brush of his lips against your throat. “You smell…” he chuckles. “Like heaven. Which is a place I’ll never get to on my own, so I had to bring my own little slice home, no?” He laughs again, a little louder this time, genuinely amused. “Went into town one day and caught your scent on the street. At first I thought I must be walking past the bakery, but, lo and behold, there was no baker in sight.” He’s still kissing at your pulse, worshiping it. “Went crazy, princess. Didn’t think I was going to be able to contain myself when I found you. Thought it might be quite the scene.” He huffs a laugh and you shiver, somehow both terrified and intoxicated. “But then I saw you–” he groans and something clenches deep at your center. “And I knew I needed more than just your blood. Needed you.” He’s rocking into you now, and your breath catches when you feel something firm against your backside. “Went to you in that little room you slept in every night. Watched you. Couldn’t stay away. Knew I had to have you.” You feel him smile against your skin. “After a week I couldn’t take it anymore. Sent you that letter, married you. Made you mine.” He groans again. “Then I met you and you were so pretty, princess. Already knew it, but hearin’ you talk to me, look at me.” Teeth graze your pulse. “Needed you more than ever. Almost took you right on the fucking floor in here while you were lookin’ at those dresses.” You whine when his hips roll into you again. “Oh, but I knew I couldn’t. You’re so fragile, love. Had to wait, had to make you feel safe, yeah? Spent all this time forcing myself to stay away, ‘fraid of what I might too if I was in your presence too long. Had to control myself. Had to make you realize you could trust me.” He panting, like he’s so pent up he can hardly sit still. “Do you trust me, princess?”

Your brows scrunch. Say no, say no, say no a part of you screams. Run, run, run. You can’t. “Yes,” you breathe.

You feel him smile again, feel the pleasure of submission. “Good girl.”

You’re on your back. It happens so fast your eyes don’t even have time to gasp. You don’t see Satoru, but you feel him. Everywhere. His hands are roaming your body softly, sliding under buttons and laces and popping them off. Your dress loosens with every passing moment until Satoru reappears above you, diving straight for your neck again. “So good, princess. Let’s get you out of this dress, yeah?”

You nod wordlessly, entranced. He finds your mouth as he rids you of your clothes. His tongue presses in and you flail against him, unsure of what to do, of how to handle the intrusion. The kiss is heavy, too heavy, but Satoru can’t seem to stop. He devours you as he gives up on laces and buttons and simply shreds your dress down the back. You tremble when the cold air hits your skin, when his cool fingers dust your collarbone.

“I always forget how many damn layers they make you ladies wear,” he chuckles. His hands run beneath your shift, up across your bare thigh. You gasp at the touch. No one has even been so close to you before. You feel the threads of your corset snapping away, feel your breaths growing deeper. You tremble when he pulls your sleeve down past your shoulder and runs his mouth along the newly exposed skin.

“Satoru,” you gasp, and your hand pulls at his flowing white shirt.

He chuckles, pulling back just enough to see your face. “You wanna see me too?” You nod, lips parted and eyes glassy, and he laughs again. He lips dust over the corner of your mouth. “Alright.”

His hands shift from you to himself, working at the laces on his chest. His movements are speedy, practiced, like he’s been lacing and unlacing shirts for hundreds of years. Your throat tightens when you realize that he has.

You gasp when he reveals himself, when his shirt slides away to reveal an expanse of pale skin and carved muscle. You’ve never seen a man like this and seeing one this close up for the first time is nearly blinding. He’s art, you think- nothing less.

“Touch me, princess,” he says. You can’t. You shouldn’t. He’s too beautiful, too perfect to be beneath your insignificant hands. “Need a little help?” he asks, and there’s a lilt in his voice that makes you sure he’s grinning.

His hands find yours and bring them to his chest, running your palms over his collarbones, his pecs, down, down, down across his abs that you can feel each and every one… You whimper, watching your own fingers grope his skin. He pulls you lower, lower, lower, and you gasp when your fingertips brush the waistband of his pants. But then he’s laughing again and he’s throwing your arms over his shoulders and pulling you closer, kissing your neck like it pained him to be parted from your pulse for so long.

“Not so fast,” he says, like he wasn’t the one nearly stuffing your hands down his pants. His hands are on your corset again. You can feel it dangling onto you by a thread, literally. All he needs is a couple more pulls and you’ll be bare. By the look he gives you, you can tell he’s

thinking the same thing. “You touch me, now I touch you, yeah?” There’s a tug and a tear and then so much… cold. You’ve never realized how cold this castle is, not until you’re exposed to its elements fully. You’re naked.

Satoru sits back on his knees and just watches. His gaze is searing, burning, despite the iciness of his being. It’s too much. Your hands move to cover yourself, to maintain some modicum of your dignity-

“No.” Strong hands find your wrists and pry them apart. “Let me see you,” he says. His tongue darts out to lick his lips.

Your jaw clenches and your frame shakes, but you do as he asks, letting your hands fall limply at your sides. There’s silence for many more moments and it seems to go on so long that you can only squeeze your eyes shut under his gaze. Surely he will turn you away now, get up and leave, tell you this was a mistake, tell you that you’re–

“Beautiful,” he breathes. Your eyes snap open to find him already staring at you. “Beautiful,” he says again, and then he’s on you, lips at your pulse, hands on your skin. His touch is cool and you squeak at the chill that runs up your spine. You’re not sure it’s entirely from his temperature.

His mouth seeks yours and he devours you. You feel as if he’s sucking your soul out through your lips. “Tell me you’ve never done this before,” he begs. “Tell me I’m the first to touch you.”

You whine against his mouth, both aching for more and overwhelmed by what he’s already giving you. “Y-You’re the first,” you whisper.

His groan is deep, primal. It rattles through your chest and you whimper when his hands dig into your waist hard enough to bruise. “Yes,” he breathes, and you shiver again. “Lie back, princess.” Your eyes widen, with anticipation or fear you’re not sure. Probably both. He chuckles. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

You pray he means that. “Just relax, love. Here, hold my hand.” His fingers find yours, twining them together. When you swallow, his eyes follow the bob of your throat. He leans back again and your body twitches when his free hand skims the skin of your thighs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he finds your knees and you gasp when he parts your legs, revealing you so completely to his gaze. The way he stares, like he’s committing you to memory, it’s nearly enough to make you snap your thighs shut, but a squeeze from his hand reminds you to relax, to trust.

His palm skates up your thigh and settles near your hip, his fingertips inching closer to where you can feel an embarrassing throb.

“Tell me, love. Have you ever touched yourself here?” His fingers dust low on your tummy- just low enough for you to catch his meaning, but not low enough to give you any relief. Your face heats and your teeth dig into the flesh of your cheek. You have, you have touched yourself there, but it’s the last thing you want to admit to your new husband. It’s shameful, it’s dirty, it’s- “Don’t think I’ll judge you, princess. Just wanna know.”

You gulp down a breath. You should come clean. “Y-yes,” you stutter, and the sound of your voice so weak and helpless only makes you flush further.

He chuckles and squeezes your hand again. “On the outside or the inside?”

Your eyes widen. I-inside? You’d never considered that… “J-just the outside,” you answer.

Your eyes grow even wider when his head rolls back and he moans straight up to the ceiling like your answer is heaven-sent. When he looks back to you his fangs are on full display. “Well, I think you and I are in for a little treat today, hm?”

Your brow furrows and your lips part to ask him what he means– his fingers travel those last few inches down your tummy and find your clit. You squeak and jolt so violently that he presses a hand to your hip, holding you to the mattress. “Somebody’s sensitive,” he chuckles. He holds you still for a moment and then lets your hips go free. “Try to stay still. I promise it’ll feel good.”

You nod hopelessly, but this time you’re prepared for when he touches you again. Your muscles clench at the first touch, at the foreign sensation of a touch down there that wasn’t your own. But then it’s more. It’s languid, slow circles around a spot that you’ve never been able to pinpoint so well on your own. It’s heat building in your tummy that seeps through every vein and into every pore. It’s relaxation that you’ve never known, that has you melting into the mattress despite the chill of the touch.

There’s a little huff of a laugh and then his voice. “Good girl. Feels nice, yeah?” You nod hesitantly and squeeze desperately at his hand, searching for an anchor. His head cocks to the side and you watch the smile slide across his lips. “It’s about to feel even nicer.”

By the time you realize what he’s doing it’s far too late to stop him. His mouth closes around your cunt and you yelp, trying to wiggle away from the overwhelming sensation- but he’s got his freehand on your hip again and his grip is bruising, punishing, as he holds you in place. He licks a stripe through your folds and you find yourself jolting again, uselessly so against the pressure of his palm on your hip. “Stop that, princess.” Your heart drops at the admonishment until you feel his guiding touch. “Rock into me like this.” His hand rocks your hips into his mouth and the pressure of his tongue against your clit is so delicious that you whimper. “Good girl,” he says and your heart rises right back up. “Keep doing that, now.” You don’t dare defy him. You rock like he showed you, a little jerkily at first, and then you find a rhythm that has you seeing stars. “That’s it, love,” he says, and the sound is muffled against your cunt. “Here, put your hand in my hair.” He finds your wrist and guides you forward until your fingers are tangling in those snowy locks. They’re even softer than you’d imagined. “Good girl,” he whispers and suddenly he’s taking one last long lick and lifting his head to meet your eyes. “‘M gonna put my fingers in you now, princess.” Your chin wobbles. “It might hurt a little bit, but stay still, okay?” You can’t do anything but nod.

His eyes return to your cunt and you can feel him prodding at your entrance, circling the hole as you clench in anticipation. “Relaaaaaax, love,” he says and you nod. A deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth–

You feel the exact moment he pushes into you and a whine of pain rips from your throat. Your walls clamp down like a vice, angry at the intrusion– but it’s already too late. There’s a beat of silence, of anticipation, and then he’s– laughing?

Your brows furrow when you hear it, your head lifting to a sight that locks your limbs in shock. Satoru’s hand is lifted in front of his face, his pointer finger coated in– blood, you realize. Your blood. And he’s a fucking vampire.

“Oh princess,” he coos, and the manic look in his eyes makes you tremble. “You really are perfect.”

Things seem to slow as you watch him take his blood covered finger into his mouth. You’re sure you’ve never seen an expression more blissful, more lost to sensation. His eyes roll back and his body shivers, like he’s ascending to some higher plane. Maybe he is.

When he pulls his finger from his mouth it’s completely licked clean. You hold your breath. He’s going to go for your neck now, right? He’s had a taste and now he’ll want more of it, all of it?

“Fuck,” is all he says. His mouth is back on your cunt so fast you don’t even see him move.

Your mouth falls wide. It hurts, the way he is so desperately licking at you. You feel his finger again, pressing in, in, in, only to pull back and suddenly be joined by another. The stretch tears at you. You thrash and jolt, but Satoru doesn’t bother telling you to stop this time. His arm wraps over your hips, holding you in place. He seems immune to how hard your legs squeeze at his head or your hands pull at his hair. He’s lost. You can feel him licking, lapping, and prodding at you like you’re a fucking gold mine. He’s lost to desperation, to the need for more, more, more. Every so often he lifts his chin and you see his mouth smudged with a mixture of your wetness and your blood. He laps at his lips like an animal, dragging his thumb across his chin and sliding it into his mouth to make sure he gets every last drop.

You’re not quite sure when the ravenous pain turns to a ravenous pleasure, when it turns from terrifying to downright delicious. You don’t notice your moans filling the air until Satoru joins you, groaning and whining into your cunt and telling you to keep going, to keep making those sounds. The hand you have buried in his hair doesn’t fight to push him away any longer, only to pull him into those now practiced rocks of your hips. His fingers thrust deep, curling into a spot that makes you feel so good and his mouth has found your clit again. He sucks your nerves lightly between his lips, tongue swirling in little circles. Your thighs start to shake.

“Yes. Yes. Give it to me.”

“S-Satoru–” you breathe. Warmth and tightness pool in your tummy, and you recognize it as your approaching orgasm, though you know this one will be far different than any you’ve ever managed to give yourself. Your body shakes and your breaths tremble and then– you fall over the edge, rocking your hips senselessly, losing all form of rhythm. Warmth tingles in your spine and seeps all the way down to your toes. You think you cry out, cry for your husband, cry for more, cry for less, but if you do you don’t hear it. All you hear is the pounding of your pulse, of pleasure throbbing in your veins until the world slowly seeps back in through the corners of your vision.

Satoru is grinning. A speck of your blood clings to his chin and his fangs peek out from behind his lips. The sight makes your blood run a little colder. If any part of you doubted what he was before… well, there was no doubt any longer.

There’s a shift between your legs, his hips slotting between them, and you’re suddenly snapped back to reality. From the look in his eyes, you’re not done.

Frantic hands find his pants and he undoes each button with a quickness that is almost inhuman. You wonder if he could go even faster, if he’s holding back so as not to scare you. If he is, it isn’t working very well. Fear surges in your veins right alongside anticipation.

“S-Satoru–”

“It’s alright, love.” His hand finds yours without his eyes ever looking up. His grip is just a little too firm, a little too cold. “Just stay still.”

You whimper, but you don’t think he’s paying attention to that, and soon enough, neither are you. His pants slide down just past his hips, just enough. You gasp.

You’ve never seen a man in the nude, never even dared to think about what it might look like, though it seemed you no longer had to guess. His hand wrapped around his shaft, giving one long and slow stroke that made his breath hiss through his fangs. The tip was flushed, angry, and leaking something that looked clear and sticky. You couldn’t help but notice it was a lot thicker than a finger, or even two. If his fingers had hurt…

He moves with that alarming quickness again, leaning down to hover over you, chests nearly pressed together. “Gonna take you now, princess. Gonna make you mine.” His eyes bore into yours, blue and shimmering with something wild. His hand presses into the mattress beside your head. “Stay still, now.”

It’s all the warning he gives you. You feel like you’re splitting– straight up the middle. You wail, hands flying out to claw at his back. It hurts. It hurts.

“Satoru, p-please! It’s–”

Lips catch yours– hungry, feral. The kiss is not gentle, not soothing. It shuts you up, it keeps you quiet, it keeps you still as you feel him sinking further, deeper into you. It’s too much, you try to say, but the poke of sharp teeth against your lips keeps you silent. Your hips jolt and wiggle trying desperately to escape the stretch but it’s no use. By the time he’s fully inside you, tears are streaking down your cheeks, fat and heavy. His lips break away and his eyes reappear. You shake when you see that none of the wildness has been tamed, that you’ve only just begun.

“Good girl,” he coos, and a cool finger traces a line across your jaw. “Took me so well.” You hold back a sob when his hips shift a little, testing, prodding. He must see the pinch of your eyes, the twist of your mouth, because he’s quick to comfort. “Just hold my hand, princess.” His hips rock in earnest this time and you whimper, squeezing down on his hand with all your might. You’re panting as he chuckles. “Breathe, love. Breathe. Soon you’ll be begging for more,” he laughs. It’s not long before he’s rocking into you sincerely, setting a pace that stretches you to the brink of breaking. At first it’s all you can do to grasp onto him, to bite your lips through the whimpers and hold his hand. And then it’s… more. It’s heat and warmth despite the coolness of his body on yours. It’s sensation and… pleasure. He laughs when the first moan slides past your lips, burying his face in your neck once again. You hear him at your ear, panting his hot breath across your skin.

“Feel good, princess?” You nod, letting your hips rock against his as he showed you before. It feels good– it feels right. He chuckles, but there’s nothing light about the sound. “Wanna feel even better?” Something sharp pokes at the skin of your neck, hard enough to make you squeak, to make you freeze at what you know he wants.

He pulls himself back, pressing his forehead to yours, searching your eyes with his. Something like a cruel smile dances on his mouth. “Just a taste, love. I promise it won’ hurt.” His tongue darts out and licks across your lips, his thrusts rocking just a bit faster. “You’ll feel s’ good an’ I’ll only take a little.” He laughs again and it sends a chill through your bones. “Promise.” He sounds breathless, like he’s struggling to restrain himself. The increase of his pace makes you whine and you squeeze his hand again. He buries himself back in your neck, panting. “Come on, love. Say yes. Say yes f’ me.” Your eyes glaze over. Your body justles with each new thrust. He’s desperate now, seeking a release that you don’t think is any kind you’re familiar with. “Yes, yes, yes,” he chants in your ear. You’re not sure when his words twist in your mind, when they settle on your tongue and push past your lips, but you know it feels so right when they do.

“Yes,” you whisper.

His fangs clamp around your pulse. You scream when the sting rips through you, violent and savage– but it only lasts a moment. Pain fades to… ecstasy. You feel his throat bobbing with each swallow, feel your blood seeping from your skin and onto his tongue. You’d thought it would feel slicing, draining, like the life was being sucked from you. It doesn’t. It feels wonderful. Heat spreads under your skin, emanating from your neck and down to your toes. It feels like breathing for the first time, like sugar being pumped into your veins. It feels like heaven. Your hand tangles in his hair, holding him close. You don’t want it to stop, not ever. You could die like this, have him suck every last drop of blood from your veins and thank him for it with your dying breath.

He’s moaning now, hands curling into your hips while he fucks into you relentlessly. The pace is grueling and brutal. You know it should hurt but only feels perfect. Anything less would not be enough. Anything else would leave you wanting. You feel it building, feel that familiar twinge at your core. The ecstasy flooding through your veins has it coming faster, has you teetering on the edge in moments.

“Satoru…” You hadn’t noticed how dizzy you felt until you tried to speak. You wonder why… “‘M gonna…”

He fucks you harder, something menacing and deep rumbling in his chest. The sound makes you shiver, makes you whine, makes you come.

Your body shakes and a cry rips from your throat, cunt clenching like a vice around him. Your eyes roll back, hands scraping trails down his back. Your thighs quake with the intensity, with the overwhelming senses of pleasure that erupt throughout your body. Every nerve is firing, every hair rising. It’s an unstoppable current, one that sweeps you away, helpless to its pull.

His thrusts grow sloppy and untimed. His grip on your hips tightens, holding you in place while he makes you his. His teeth break from your neck and when you look up through blurry eyes you see his head thrown back, your blood streaming down his chin in thick little globs. You feel it when he cums, feel the thick ropes of it seeping into your womb, feel the way he keeps fucking you, pushing it deeper and deeper inside. He’s moaning, chanting your name like a prayer at the heavens.

When the moment ends he slumps over you, eyes half lidded and tired. There’s a familiar grin on his lips, one that inspires both comfort and uneasiness in your gut. You can’t help but stare at him, at the blood that stains his chin and cheeks, that reddens his lips so beautifully. You want to reach out and touch him, touch his blood-soaked skin and see what it feels like, what it tastes like. What you taste like.

His eyes slide to the side, finding your pulse again. You groan. Yes, you think. Please, yes. More. You don’t think you’ll ever get enough of that. Of his teeth in your flesh, of the euphoria flooding your veins. More, more, more, your mind chants.

He chuckles lightly and shakes his head. “No, princess.” He raises a finger to trace the curve of your neck. “I took more than I should have…” His expression doesn’t tense with worry. His cheeks pull into a smile, those little dimples shining through. “But what can I say? You just taste so good.” Like he needs to emphasize his point, his tongue darts out to trace his lips, lapping up some of the remaining blood on his chin. “You taste like mine.”

You whine. More, more, more. It’s all you can think about. You lift an arm weakly. You want to pull him to your neck, to make him drink, to make him fill you with the heaven you had just moments ago.

He catches your wrist and brings it to his lips, inhaling deeply. His lips split into another grin and you see his eyes spark again with the wildness you crave.

“Not yet, princess.” he coos. “But soon.” His smile grows even wider, until those fangs are on full display, until you’re trembling again. “Forever,” he whispers.

taglist (dm me or send an ask to be added!): @lacheri, @la-undercover-latina, @keiva1000

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chuluoyi · 7 months

Note

soft gojo meeting his newborn hc, pleaaasee??

࿐ ࿔ 🕰️ 「 11:10 P.M 」

soft dad!gojo drove me to have another baby fever for the ntn time. you just have to put this idea in my head don’t you dear anon~

a part of gojo's love entries

the thing was so tiny, precious and squishy. it fit right in his hands, so red and fragile, almost like a toy—

only it was not. it was a real, living baby. his son, partly made by his own flesh and blood—his to protect.

“hello to you, my little minion,” satoru whispered to his newborn, wonderstruck by the sight of this small but clearly alive being. his eyes glazed, his fingers delicately tracing the baby's face, body, and tiny feet. “i’m your dad, yeah?”

his own soft voice sounded foreign to him. but at this moment, as he was utterly mesmerized by the sight of little human that just came out of you, his beloved wife, he couldn’t care less.

he had always imagined how his brat would look like. he even joked with you about how he’d get his good looks—and heck, the gods did hear him and this baby in his arms was the most handsome baby he had ever seen, blessed with his white hair and softest skin, as well as the rosiest cheeks.

his only dismay was that he also inherited the bluest of eyes, the curse in his family line.

well, but that’s a problem for another day.

he settled his newborn into the hospital's nursery crib, and nudged his pudgy cheeks once again. not even half a day had passed since he was born, and gojo satoru had developed a severe cuteness aggression for his son. he swore he’d spoil him rotten, shower him love he never truly experienced from his own parents, and of course, keep him safe.

with his heart full, he left the baby as he slept, and went back to your room.

in the very same predicament as your baby, you were still fast asleep. you were visibly exhausted, your hair was a tangled mess, and there was a line of dried blood along your lips—caused by accidentally biting them too hard earlier, during your labor pains.

even in the state of disarray, satoru still thought you looked ethereal, too good for him.

he ran his fingers through your hair, smoothing them, and he regretted it when your face scrunched up and your eyes fluttered open. “…hmm? satoru?”

“hey, sweets. how are you feeling?”

“i still feel like being split into two… but yeah, i’ll manage.”

“shush, of course. you feel that way often, each time when i—”

“don’t,” you warned, glaring at him. “i just birthed your heir, gojo satoru. don’t even start.”

satoru burst into a laugh so hearty and he realized he truly loved this dynamics with you. and that he was grateful for you.

he wanted to thank you for all that you had done for him. for returning his feelings. for marrying him. for going through that pain to bring his son to the world—

and most of all, for still being here. for staying alive to live another day with him.

“i saw him just now. our baby is perfect.”

“really? i want to meet him too…”

“soon, sweetheart... when you’re a little better, i’ll take you to him.”

but he wasn’t the best with words. and so even if he were to pour his heart out, everything would be condensed into this one sentence.

you were excited at the prospect of meeting your baby, when suddenly satoru leaned in to plant a kiss on your forehead.

“i love you so damn much… you know?”

#𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk imagines #jjk drabbles #jujutsu kaisen x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru fluff #jjk fluff #gojo x you #satoru gojo fluff

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javierpena-inatacvest · 3 months

Text

Whatever My Wife Wants

Summary: On your honeymoon, Javi decides to break out a new accessory you've never seen him wear before. Little does he know, that seeing him wear a chain for the first time is about to drive you wild.

Word Count: 4.5K

Pairing: Husband!Javier Peña x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (do better, but also its your honeymoon so who am I to say), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, paise kink, literally the biggest, fattest, ugliest breeding kink (I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm not), marriage kink (?) creampie, cum play, kind of exhibitionism (like if you SQUINT), talks of starting a family, Javi LOVES his wife, Javi in a CHAIN, Javi on his honeymoon deserves its own warning, did I mention that Javi LOVES his wife?!

A/N: shoutout to my sweet @honeyedmiller for this request after reblogging this MASTERPIECE from @enstatia. It's supposed to be a painting of Din, but it gave me such big Javi vibes, and I really haven't been the same since picturing the one and only Javier Peña in a chain (bc If i can't unsee it, you shouldn't be allowed to either) 😵‍💫 Also shoutout to Lucien Flores for singlehandedly ruining my life today with that new clip from the Uninvited (but also you can't tell me that this outfit is so Javi on the beach coded PHEW)

Can be read as a standalone or as a part of the Never Too Late Series!

Javi had never been one for jewelry- well, that was until a few days ago when a new golden wedding band had made a home on his hand. Since you had slipped it on his finger, Javi couldn’t get enough of watching it glisten in the warm, tropical sunlight on your honeymoon, a reminder that filled his heart to the brim to know that he was yours forever.

Javi’s new wedding ring was the only jewelry that he had ever pictured himself wearing, until you had mentioned to him in passing while shopping for new clothes for your honeymoon how good he’d look with a chain to go with any of his outfits he had planned for the trip- considering there was no way Javi was going to have no less than 4 buttons undone on his shirt at any given time while basking in the tropical warmth of your honeymoon paradise.

Later on that week, he had dug around in his dresser to find a thin, golden chain necklace he had back from his time in college, that hadn’t seen the light of day in too many years to count. But, given your enthusiasm for the idea of him wearing something like it, Javi had decided to pack it with him in his suitcase to surprise when the time felt right.

Well, after being a few drinks deep at the pool bar from earlier, Javi’s slightly tipsy confidence had him feeling like now was the perfect time to try out his new accessory to see what you thought. Digging through his suitcase, he pulled out out the chain to go with the rest of his outfit for your dinner on the beach, clipping the necklace around his neck as he looked himself over in the mirror, quickly fixing his hair and adjusting his shirt, undoing one more button than probably necessary to show off his new look.

And while he could admit that he didn’t look half bad with it on, and figured you’d like the new surprise addition to his wardrobe, there’d be no way in hell he could have ever prepared himself for the viscerally awestruck reaction you’d have to the thin, gold chain dangling around his neck.

“I can practically feel you burning a hole through my chest, Hermosa.” Javi chuckled, raising an eyebrow at you as he took another bite of his food, giving you a playful smirk at the way you had been ogling at him ever since you had noticed the thin gold chain resting across his tanned skin as you began your walk through the hotel to head to dinner.

“Oh shut up, it’s not my fault you’re so hot. You’re making it very hard not to look, in my defense.” You sighed, trying to get yourself to focus on your food instead of staring at Javi for the rest of dinner, despite the fact that the only meal you had your eyes on was sitting across the table from you. “There’s already something about you being my husband that makes you somehow even hotter than you already were, and now with this?” You picked up your fork, gesturing to the chain dangling between the parted fabric of Javi’s shirt, “I think you may be trying to legitimately kill me.”

“Figured you’d like it. Didn’t think you’d like it this much.” Javi smirked, biting down on his lip before taking another bite of food, his cheeks growing flushed and warm as he looked at you admiring him, wondering how in the hell he had gotten so goddamn lucky. “Thanks, Mrs. Peña.” He laughed, taking another bite of his food, shooting you a quick wink.

Mrs. Peña.

God, if that alone wasn’t enough to send you over the edge already, your new last name, combined with the incredibly attractive man you had gotten it from that you now got to call your husband? On top of that stupidly hot chain he had decided to throw on with his outfit? There was definitely something else you were hungry for other than the half cleared plate below you.

It was then that you couldn’t have been happier you had been seated at a table on the edge of the beachside boardwalk, tucked behind a few stray palm trees, secluded enough out of view that you had no problem reaching under the table to rest your hand on Javi’s knee, toying with the hem of his shorts before letting your fingers creep further and further up his thigh.

“Are you almost done with your food?” You asked, your voice sweet and sultry as your hand brushing against Javi’s crotch immediately caught his attention, making his eyes go wide as he sat up straight, setting down his knife and fork to look down in his lap. “Because if you are, I can think of something else I want for dessert when we go back to our room. Something I want really bad. You wanna feel how badly I want it?”

Javi swallowed hard as your fingers wrapped more firmly around his bulge, gently massaging his dick in your grasp, before grabbing his hand and guiding it to brush along the slit of your sundress and closer to your core, aching and dripping with arousal. Letting his fingers creep up the inside of your thighs and ghost over your folds, his eyes went even wider, jaw practically dropping open to feel that you were not only absolutely soaked, but also not wearing any underwear at all. Using every ounce of composure he had to keep from falling apart right then and there at the dinner table, letting out a deep sigh as he cursed under his breath.

“Jesus fucking Christ. Fuck, baby… Yeah, I can be done right now.” He groaned, nodding at your proposition before wrapping his hand around the meat of your thigh as he took a long inhale, staring you down with darkening eyes and a devilish grin across the table.

Never had you been more thankful that the resort you had picked to stay at was all inclusive, because if either of you had to wait a minute longer for a server to get your bill so you could get back up to your room, the probability of impending implosion would have been practically inevitable.

Firmly intertwining your fingers with his as you grabbed his hand, you were nearly dragging Javi through the hotel to the nearest bay of elevators, pleasantly shocked to find no one else waiting with you to travel up to their room, leaving the two of you alone to catch the next elevator back up to your floor.

Without a word, the second the elevator doors had closed, the two of you were on top of each other, a messy dance of tongue and teeth crashing together, Javi’s hands palming the meat of your ass over your dress while yours roamed over his chest, tracing the freckles of his tanned skin up to the golden chain dangling in the open buttons of his shirt, stopping to wrap the necklace around your finger, tugging Javi closer to you.

“Fuck, you look so good with this on, baby.” You moaned, your words hot against Javi’s skin as you nipped at his neck, chain still tangled in your grasp. “I can’t wait to fu-”

Barely aware of the fact that you had reached your floor, the ding of the elevator was enough to catch your attention and cut you off from completing the rest of your thought before the doors slid open, revealing a group of couples waiting for their ride down to the lobby. Frantically trying to play off the fact that if the elevator ride had gone any longer, you two definitely would have been seconds away from fucking in it, you gulped, giving Javi a nudge to his ribs to bring him back to reality, the two of you quickly trying to slide past the other guests without making a scene.

As the door closed behind you, you and Javi couldn’t help but giggle at the fact that you couldn’t seem to take an elevator trip alone without almost being caught making out like a pair of horny teenagers (which, to be fair, a pair of horny teenagers probably would have had more self control than the two of you being newlyweds on your honeymoon).

With your room only being a few doors down from the elevator, Javi began fumbling in the pocket of his shorts for his room key, working around the full hard on he already had under the fabric from how pent up he was. Quietly cursing under his breath until he found it, as soon as the card was swiping over the lock of the door, Javi was yanking you through into your room, instantly beginning to pull down the zipper to the back of your dress as you fumbled your way back to the bed.

Your dress fell to the floor in a crumpled pile before Javi was tossing you onto the mattress, shocked to see that you also hadn’t even bothered to put on a bra, revealing your glowing skin and obnoxious tanlines from your time spent out in the sun.

“Dirty fucking girl, not wearing anything underneath that dress for me. Fuck me, Hermosa. God, you’re so beautiful. So fucking perfect. My perfect wife.” Javi growled, dropping to his knees at the edge of the bed to part your legs, draping them over his shoulders as he admired the wet mess between your thighs, your slick already coating your folds, glistening in the dim light of your hotel room. “My perfect wife and her perfect fucking pussy already so wet for me.

Dragging his fingers through your folds, collecting your arousal as he ghosted over your throbbing clit, you let out a soft whimper in protest, sitting up on your elbows to look down at Javi, peppering kisses along the soft skin of your thighs.

“Javi, fuck- Baby, I wanted to go down on you. You look so good, I-I wanna taste you, Jav, p-please.” You moaned, your argument becoming less and less convincing as his kisses traveled to your center, nose brushing against your aching bundle of nerves before looking up at you with a lustful smirk, tightening his grip around your hips to hold you in place.

Javi shook his head as he laughed quietly to himself, watching you squirm and buck your hips towards his face, so desperately worked up and aching that the mess between your legs was really beginning to contradict your need to get Javi off before yourself.

“Cariño…” Javi tutted, almost mockingly, digging his fingertips deeper into the meat of your flesh, “You’re not going anywhere ‘till I get a taste. I can’t leave my poor wife all worked up like this, can I?”

Before you had a chance to respond, the flat of Javi’s tongue was dragging through your heat in a long, broad stroke, firmly pressing against your clit, looking up at you with a satisfied grin as you threw your head back in pleasure, a soft whimper escaping from your parted lips. As the last of his lick slid through your folds, you shuttered at the feeling of the metal of his chain ghosting over your cunt as it dangled from his neck, only to cry out as you could feel the other piece of jewelry he was wearing on his left ring finger sink deep into your entrance.

“Oh f-fuck-” You whimpered as another finger breached your tight hole, already sucking him in with your warm, wet walls while his digits curled, bumping against the sweet spot inside you that he knew made you crumble.

“That’s it, baby girl.” He cooed, thrusting his fingers in and out of your cunt before diving back between your legs like a man starved, his tongue dancing in a swirling pattern of flicks and strokes between your folds as he lapped you up. You could feel yourself rolling your hips against his hand, whining at how thick and full he felt inside you, even more so now with the wedding band that had made its permanent home on his finger, taking every chance he could get to watch you cover the glistening gold ring in your arousal as yet another way to prove that you were his.

Javi could feel your pussy beginning to flutter around his fingers as your bottom half squirmed against the sheets of the bed, the knot in your stomach beginning to tighten, tingling building at the base of your spine. Latching his lips around your clit, he began to suck at your sensitive nub, his hand thrusting faster and deeper into your cunt, feeling you slowly coming undone under his touch.

“Oh shit- fuck, fuck, Javi, I’m so close baby, oh fuck, fuck, I’m gonnaaahhhhhh-” Just like that, you were falling over the brink of collapse, your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave, pleasure flowing through every inch of your veins as you met your high, feeling the smirk of Javi’s smile pressed against your cunt as you soaked his face, his free hand wrapped around your hip, holding you in place for him.

“Fuck, I swear, I’ll never fucking get over that.” Javi mewled, pulling back enough to sit on his heels, admiring the wet and puffy mess your pussy had become, gently pulling his fingers out of your heat, looking down at the way your arousal coated his fingers, covering his wedding band. “Fucking soaked me, Hermosa. You like feeling my ring when I touch you like that, baby? Knowing I’m all yours forever?”

With your chest heaving in heavy breaths, you nodded frantically, blissed out look plastered across your face as you stared up at Javi, lust pooling in the dark brown of his eyes as he brought his soaked fingers to your mouth, tugging at your bottom lip as, opening your mouth for you to suck him clean, the warm and tangy taste of you still fresh on his skin.

“You taste so fucking sweet, baby. Mi esposa sabes muy dulce.” (My wife tastes so sweet) Javi cooed, gently tugging his fingers out of your mouth, standing up to lean over the bed, caging your body under his as his lips crashed against yours in a needy mess of longing and desperation.

You could feel how painfully hard he was through the fabric of his shorts, his bulge straining against the seams of his zipper as he rubbed against your thigh, laying on top of you with one arm propped up beside your head, the other gently cupping your face, thumb rubbing back and forth along your cheek as he kissed you with the tender intensity that set your insides ablaze with desire, longing, no, needing to feel him buried deep inside you as you screamed his name.

It really had been your intention to suck Javi off the moment you had gotten back to your room, to drop to your knees and worship the beautifully handsome man you now got to call your husband and turn him into the same type of moaning, whimpering mess that he had just made you, but with the ferocity of each kiss and the instinctual jerk of Javi’s hips, there was nothing you wanted more than to be filled by the sweet sting of his cock pounding into you, over and over.

“J-Javi, fuck- I need to feel you baby, please. Fuck, I wanna feel you so deep inside me.” You whispered, your teeth tugging at Javi’s earlobe as he peppered your jaw and neck with kisses, feeling the audible groan in his chest at your request, followed by a deep sigh as he tried to compose himself from the mess he was already becoming.

“Yeah? That’s what you want, sweet girl? Whatever my wife wants, my wife gets.” He rasped, a devilish grin spread between his cheeks as he sat back to pull his shirt over his head, followed by his shorts and boxers, leaving him in nothing but the gold chain still dangling around his neck as he reached down to stroke his cock, red and dripping with precum before leaning back down to line up with your entrance.

You could feel your breath hitch as his tip brushed through your folds, rubbing gently against your clit as he collected your arousal to coat his length, looking down to watch as his length sunk deep into your cunt, the both of you letting out ragged moans at the sensation.

Javi paused for a moment, letting you adjust to the sweet sting of his stretch as he filled you, his tip kissing your cervix while his hips met yours. The fullness made your brain go blank, completely at a loss for words as he began to slowly thrust in and out of you, pulling himself out enough to sink his whole length back into your cunt, each thrust making you whimper and moan, desperate for more.

“F-fuck, give me more, baby, you feel so good.” You whined, your hand wrapping around his bicep, fingertips digging into his flexing muscles.

“Yeah? You want more, Hermosa?” Javi mewled, smirking to himself at the blissed out mess you were already becoming as the pace of his hips rutting into you began to quicken.

As each thrust became faster, the gold chain draped around his neck began to bounce against his chest, his body close enough to yours to feel the cool metal brush against your face with each snap of his hips into yours, the sight of his necklace dangling over you as you stared up at the furrowed and focused look painting his face. The image alone of him wearing that chain was enough to make you feel like you were going to cum on the spot, but as you lay caged beneath the weight of his broad body, feeling nothing but his warm skin and chain rub against you, you were nearly convinced it was going to be over for you right then and there.

Without even thinking, you lifted your head up off the bed just enough to grab the chain between your teeth, tugging him closer to you, the sudden yank making his eyes go wide in surprise as the two of you came nose to nose, foreheads brushing against each other before his lips were on yours again, entangling you in an all consuming kiss without faltering in his pace.

“Fuck, you look so good.” You moaned, your lips parting just enough from his to whisper your praises into his ear. “You look so hot with this fucking chain, Jesus Christ.”

Your comment had a low, breathy laugh escaping from his chest, shaking his head to himself almost in disbelief at how enthralled you were with him.

“Me? Baby girl, you have no idea.” He cooed, slowing his thrusts to sit back on his haunches, readjusting you to bring your knees pressed to your chest, leaning back down, running his hands along your body, up your arms until he had them above your head, pinned down to the bed in his grasp. “You know how many guys I’ve seen staring at you since we’ve been here? How many dirty fucking looks I’ve had to give them? Maybe this ring on your finger isn’t enough, mi amor.”

“W-what do you, fuck- what do mean?” You whimpered, the new position opening you up in a way that had you feeling every inch of Javi as he sank his cock even deeper into your cunt, splitting you open in the most delicious way possible, your brain barely working enough to let your words escape from your mouth.

“I mean,” Javi groaned, tightening his grip to hold you in place, his eyes growing darker with desire with another deep, long thrust into your heat, “That maybe, I need to fuck a baby into, Osita. Fuck a baby into my beautiful fucking wife, and let everyone see that you’re mine with our kid growing inside you.”

Javi’s words sent a shiver down your spine, the thought alone making you whimper- You and Javi both had undeniable cases of baby fever, and now that you were finally married and had agreed that your birth control wasn’t going to be a part of your packing list, the prospect that in 9 months from now, you could have a third member to your family? That was enough to have you close to finishing right then and there.

A gulp traveling down your throat before a long exhale, trying to find the words to respond to his proposition, your voice trembling in an anxious excitement.

“F-fuck- Oh my god, yes. Fuck a baby into me, Javi. Let me, oh shit- let me make you a daddy.”

“Jesus Fucking Christ…” Javi groaned, gritting his teeth, trying his best to maintain his own composure, taking a long exhale before his gaze met yours again, a fierce kind of determination and promise pooling in the deep chocolate brown of his eyes, leaning his body on top of yours, pushing your knees closer to your chest, opening you up to an even deeper angle as his mouth crashed into yours, beginning to pick up his pace once again as his hips snapped into yours. “That’s what you want, Hermosa? Fuck, I’ll give it to you, baby. Oh shit- Whatever my wife wants, my wife gets, remember? You want a baby? Fuck- I’ll fuck myself so deep inside you I’ll fuck a baby into you right now.”

You could feel the all too familiar tingle beginning to build at the base of your spine once again, Javi’s cock pounding perfectly into your g-spot over and over again, the hairs at the base of his length grinding against your throbbing clit, sending you to the brink of collapse with each thrust in and out of your cunt.

“Yes, oh my god- yes, I w-want it so bad. P-please, baby, fuck.” You whined, starting to stumble over your words as you could feel your pussy beginning to flutter around his cock, the coil in your core tightening to the point of nearly snapping.

“Fuck- say it again. Tell me- mierda- tell me how badly you want it.” Javi moaned, his thrusts becoming slopier and more desperate as he could feel himself on the verge of chasing his own high, knowing all too well you were almost hitting yours.

“I want you to fill me up, Javi. Fuck, fuck, fuck- I want it so bad. I want you to knock me up and give me a baby, please, baby, oh my god- please.” You were all but panting at this point, your legs starting to tremble as your cunt clenched tighter and tighter around Javi’s cock, the overwhelming sensation of his fullness, promise of pregnancy, and that damn chain dangling in your face was enough to finally send you over the edge. “Fuck, Javi, fuck, fuckfuckfuck, I’m so close baby, I’m gonna, oh shit- I’m gonna cu-ahhhhhhh.”

Those were the last words you were able to muster before you were screaming out Javi’s name as you came, euphoria and ecstasy radiating through every inch of your body, your orgasm crashing through you with so much intensity you could have sworn you were seeing stars.

Watching you fall apart beneath him, soaking his cock in your arousal as you came had Javi only moments behind you, the rhythm of his hips beginning to stutter, the lewd sounds of your skin slapping against each others combined with your wanton moans and whimpers and curses under your breath making him begin to babble incoherently.

“That’s it, Osita. That’s my good girl. Fucking soak my cock, baby. Cum all over me before I, fuck me- fuck myself so deep in you it’ll fucking take. Holy fuck- Fuck, I’m gonna cum too. Gonna fucking fill you up. Give you all of me. Fuck, I’ll give you everyting, baby, mierda- everything you’ll ever wa-ahhhhhh”

With one last final thrust, Javi was spilling deep inside you, warm ropes of his spend coating your walls, milking himself of every single last drop before collapsing on top of you, the warmth and weight and of his body sinking on top of your chest as the two you sighed in sync, trying to catch your breath with long, labored huffs.

As Javi felt himself begin to soften, a groan rumbled low in his chest while he pulled out, feeling the mix of your spend dripping out your hole, coating the inside of your thighs in glistening juices. You let out an involuntary whimper at the loss of fullness inside you, your head falling back on the mattress in blissed out satisfaction, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to bring yourself back to reality after floating away in post-colotial bliss.

“Holy fuck…” You whispered to yourself, lifting your head back up to see Javi sitting back on his heels, admiring the mess of the two of you pooling between your legs.

“So fucking pretty, Hermosa.” He mewled, peppering kisses down the soft skin of your thighs, making his way back towards your core. Before you could even realize what was happening, Javi’s head was back between your legs, one broad stroke of his tongue collecting the tangy, salty mixture leaking out of your cunt and lapping it back into your entrance quickly replacing his mouth with his fingers to push the mixture of your spend even further into you.

Looking up at you, slick covering his mustache and smug grin spread between his cheeks, Javi curled his fingers just enough to make you yelp as he pressed against your g-spot, considering how worked up and overstimulated you already were.

“Gotta make sure I keep you full of me, baby. Can’t let anything go to waste.” Javi smirked, gently pulling out his fingers, resting his hands on your thighs, drawing soft circles on your skin with his thumbs.

You tried to sit back up, propping yourself on your elbows before Javi’s body was caging over you once again, slowly lowering himself down until your back was flat against the bed, cradling your jaw as guided you down with soft, slow kisses, feeling his chain brush against your chin he pulled away from your lips.

“You’re not going anywhere, Momma. My wife wants a baby? Then I’m doing everything I can to give her one. Whatever she wants.” Javi smirked, pressing a tender kiss onto your forehead as his hand caressed your face, brushing your skin just gently enough to tickle you, a little giggle escaping from your lips as your eyes met his sweet puppy dog ones.

“You’re ridiculous, you menace.” You laughed, playfully nudging Javi as he rolled over next to you on the side of the bed, wrapping his arm around you, tugging you to lay against his bare chest, your hand draping over his stomach before crawling up his chest, wrapping his gold chain around your fingers. “Hmmmm whatever your wife wants, huh?” You smirked, looking up at him with a mischievous grin.

“Whatever she wants, Hermosa.”

“Your wife wants you to never take this damn thing off again.”

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ghostfacd · 7 months

Text

I BET ON LOSING DOGS.

pairing: young!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

PART TWO

summary: you were the epitome of sunshine, and coriolanus? he was like the storm, the rain, and the everything in between.

warnings: SPOILERS from the movie & book, SMUT (protected cause we wrap it before we tap it! p in v), losing virginities to each other, snow (cause he himself needs a warning), toxic relationship, coriolanus is only in it for himself, mentions of losing virginity, you practically giving everything to snow and getting zero in return

author’s note: erm this is kinda long idek where tf i was going with this, first time writing smut on this account LOL so it might be bad. also this isn’t proofread so there might be mistakes, just ignore! as always, reblogs and comments are so greatly appreciated, enjoy reading + kisses 💓

You were the epitome of the sun itself, the sparkle, the light, and most importantly, the brightness. Despite being filthy rich, you were still that sweet sunshine Y/N everyone grown to love, the heir to the Cicero family.

Coriolanus Snow hated that about you. Not only were you everything he was not, but you lived such a lavish and easy lifestyle that it made him sick. Why was he stuck eating cabbage while you were off eating the finest thin slices of meat in the Capitol made by your chefs? It wasn’t fair, it just simply wasn’t.

“Well, Coryo!” Your sickeningly sweet voice fills his ears like a mantra.

He turns around, a smirk plays on his face. “My Y/N.”

Hearing him call you his made your heart flutter. You loop your arm through his, passing through the other academy students who were engrossed in their conversations

“Finally the star pupil.” Arachne Crane says, a glass of posca in her hand. “Lovely shirt you’ve got there. What are these cunning buttons? Tesserae?”

He looked at the shirt, shrugging. “Hm? Are they? Must’ve why they reminded me of the maid’s bathroom.”

You held his hands in yours. You knew of Coriolanus’s home life, how he wasn’t so lucky like you to have a gigantic home filled with lovable parents. His mom had died during childbirth, Coryo mentioning to you once how he was supposed to have a little sister. His father—died in the hands of rebels.

“Have you tried this lamb? It's scandalous.” Felix suddenly spoke up, taking a bite of the food that was currently on his plate.

“Didn’t daddy teach you table manners?.” Festus sneered, watching the other boy in disgust.

“Maybe he would have if he wasn’t so busy running the country.” Felix snapped back

Coriolanus took a deep breath in, already feeling overwhelmed by his classmates arguing.

After the announcement of the assigning of mentor to tributes, you could tell Coriolanus was upset. Although he wouldn’t let anyone see, he was visibly anxious and quite frankly, annoyed.

“I mean, cmon, how could it that I got the worst district?” Coriolanus says, head in his hands. “He hates me. He really does.”

“Who hates you Coryo?”

“Dean Highbottom! Isn’t it obvious?” He cries out, hands flinging into the air. You slightly flinch back, never seeing your boyfriend in such state. “He hates me Y/N. He adores you.”

“He doesn’t adore me,” you say, feeling like you were stepping around eggshells talking to Coriolanus.

“He does!” Coriolanus screams in anger, getting up in a hurry.

“Wait, no Coryo, I’m sorry.”

But your words aren’t enough, they’ll never be for Coriolanus Snow, so he walks out without a second thought.

- - -

The next day, Coriolanus apologizes. It’s a breathy, quick 5 second apology, but you being so you—accepted it without a second thought.

You loved Coriolanus, so it didn’t matter how much he hurt you.

“I’ll make it up to you tonight,” he says, placing a soft kiss on your lips.

You felt quite excited, you and your boyfriend hadn’t exactly gotten to that stage in your relationship, so thinking about sharing an intimate moment with him filled you with giddiness.

His tip had entered carefully through your folds, making you slightly wince as it bullied its way to your walls.

“Coryo..” you breathe out hazily, doe eyes coming to meet his. He sucked in his breath at the sight, never has he felt anything as good as this.

He tries so hard convincing himself he doesn’t love you. That this—it meant nothing to him. He was just here for your money, your possessions as the only daughter of Cryon and Hermione Cicero. But as he felt your nails claw its way into his back, he lets out a slip, a tiny whimper that makes your head foggy.

He spilled into the condom, pulling out with a hiss. Although you told him you were clean, and it was fine if he didn’t wear one, he simply couldn’t risk it. He wasn’t going to accidentally bring in a child into the world, having no intentions of taking care of anyone besides himself—maybe Tigris, and his Grandma’am.

“I love you,” you say quietly as you sat up, watching him discard the plastic into your trash bin.

“I’m hungry, aren’t you?” He says, putting his shirt on. It kinds of pains you at his total ignorance of the intimate words you just shared, but you nod your head.

“I could use some food,” is all you say, putting on your pajamas from earlier. “What’re hungry for Coryo? I’ll ask the chef.”

- - -

Dr. Gaul and Dean Highbottom had allowed all the mentors and their tributes roam the arena for about 15 minutes, letting them think of ways to win the game.

You were talking to Bobbin, a boy from District 7 whom you’ve had become closer with these past few days.

Suddenly, the loud scream of Felix catches your attention and before you knew it, loud bombs filled the air as tall lights fell to the ground near you.

“CORYO!” You scream, coughing loudly at the dust filling your lungs.

“Quick Y/N, we don’t have time!” Sejanus screams, grabbing ahold of your hand.

“But Coryo—”

Meanwhile, a tall pole had crushed Coriolanus’s arms.

Well, he thought, this was it.

This was how he was going to die. His girlfriend and best friend hand in hand as they ran out of the arena, the sickening feeling of betrayal filled his guts.

“What’re you doing?!” One of the tributes screamed at Lucy Gray, who was struggling to get the giant metal off Coriolanus’s arm. “Run while you can you idiot!”

But she doesn’t bother, only focusing on getting Coriolanus out. And she does, successfully, before all went black.

- - -

“Coryo? Oh Coryo!” You say, hugging him softly to ensure you weren’t hurting him.

You had felt so guilty after everything had happened. You should’ve never ran off with Sejanus, Coriolanus was your boyfriend, you should’ve saved him.

“Is Lucy Gray okay?” Is the first thing he croaks out, which makes your heart slightly crack.

“She’s—she’s okay Coryo.” You say, brushing a few blonde curls out of his eyes.

“And where were you?” He says, gaze slowly turning into anger. “I was going to die, Y/N.”

“I know! I was going to—”

He cut you off. “But you didn’t, now did you?”

His bitterness towards you makes you want to cry, tears already forming at your lash line.

“Oh now you’re crying?” It seemed like everything you did seemed of inconvenience to Coriolanus, but he opens his arms, letting you reside in them as you let out a few tears. “Always the crybaby, Y/N.” He says, hand holding your head as you buried your face into his chest.

- - -

Coriolanus Snow never believed in love. Not when he used to look at his mother and father when they were still alive, and not when he found himself a girlfriend, you.

Your relationship was merely another step stone towards success, Coriolanus viewed it. You were the heir of your family, you had countless amounts of money, and you were easily fooled by his advances. To Coriolanus, he had hit the jackpot, regardless of loving you or not.

So why did he feel so weird watching you interact with Sejanus? Sure, he considered the former district 2 boy his best friend, but it was only because Clemensia had been spending time at the hospital. The flu, Dr. Gaul described it; but Snow knew better. He was there when she had gotten bit by the snakes, and to be completely honest, if she hadn’t, he’d probably have dated her instead of you.

Clemensia Dovecote was way more smart, and he knew he wouldn’t fall inlove because they were both after the same thing. Power.

But with you, you were head over heels for Coriolanus. It almost made him sick, if it weren’t for your family name.

He clenched his jaw as he saw you throw your head back, hitting Sejanus’s shoulder as you hysterically laughed at something he had said.

What was so funny? Nothing was funny in the Capitol, not now. Maybe he was bitter, he should’ve never cheated in the games. It was stupid, and now he was getting the punishment of getting sent to 12 as a peacekeeper for 20 years.

Fuck, he really shouldn’t have cheated. And now he couldn’t even use his girlfriend’s family name as a way out.

He really should’ve known better. He knew you loved him, but he didn’t think you’d love him so much so that you begged your father to let you stay in 12 for a while to be with Coriolanus.

If there’s one thing about you—it’s that you’re a Daddy’s girl by heart, and of course, your father had once again served your request with a silver spoon. He hated that about you. He hated it. You got things too damn easily.

“Hi Coryo!” You say, making your way to him. Your beautiful sundress made him gulp, and he wanted nothing more but to snatch you away, pulling it off so he could get inside of you. But he couldn’t—he was in 12, much to his dismay.

“Y/N,” he says, placing his peacekeeper gun to the back. “Talking to the scums?”

“They’re just people from the district,” you say, frowning at his rudeness. “They’re nice, Coryo. Real nice, you’d like some of them.”

Coriolanus scoffs at that. How oblivious and stupid you were. Him, Coriolanus Snow, liking some of the district 12 citizens? What a fucking joke.

“Go along now Y/N, I’ll see you later.”

You nod, giving him a sloppy kiss on the cheek before you left, leaving the other peacekeepers to whistle at Coriolanus who only responds with an eye roll.

When later eventually comes, he was packing away the Jabberjays in their metal cages, Sejanus being right next to him.

“I saw you earlier,” Coriolanus says nonchalantly, “talking to that woman in the window. What are you playing at Sejanus?”

Sejanus scoffs, shaking his head. “They’re gonna escape Corio. Leave the districts. And I’ll be helping them.”

Coriolanus sucks in a breath, “is Y/N all in this too?”

God, he hoped Sejanus said no. But then again, it’d give him an advantage if he had said yes.

“She is,” Sejanus says, continuing to tell Coriolanus of the plan.

Without Sejanus knowing, Coriolanus had tuned the jabberjay so it could record back the whole conversation. When Sejanus finally leaves, Coriolanus sneaks to where the train bringing the birds back to the Capitol stood, placing the jabberjay in it to send it to Dr. Gaul.

If anything, Sejanus was a blocking point in Coriolanus’s way, and getting rid of him and you were like killing two birds with one stone.

- - -

The next day came and you were peacefully talking to one of the younger girls in the district when you’re suddenly pulled away along with Sejanus.

“Hey! What the hell!” You scream, thrashing in the unfamiliar peacekeeper’s hold. “Get off me!”

You and Sejanus struggle, and Coriolanus almost wants to step in and get you out of his fellow peacekeeper’s arms. Almost.

“Coryo! Tell them they’ve been mistaken!” You cry out, locking eyes with your so called lover.

“You two have been charged with treason towards the Capitol.” The peacekeeper says, his cold gaze and strong hold on you makes you let out a whimper.

“Treason?” You say, “there has to be a mistake! Call my father! Call my father!”

“I’m afraid your father can’t get you out of this one, Miss. Cicero.”

He drags you and Sejanus up the main stage of the district. “Everyone! Pay attention! This is what will happen if you are disloyal to the Capitol!”

Another peacekeeper points a gun behind Sejanus’s back as the peacekeeper who was holding you earlier pokes your back with the cold metal. You felt terrified gazes of the citizens of District 12, including Lucy Gray, stare at you.

“CORYO! TELL THEM!” You scream, begging with your eyes. “Coryo, please. Please.”

But Coriolanus Snow stands still in his spot, not budging a thing.

You thought he had loved you—or at least, cared for you. You gave him shelter when he was at his worst, you gave him your virginity, you held him when he cried about how unfair Dean Highbottom was, you let him into your home, and you always were there for him. You practically did everything for Coriolanus Snow. And what did you get? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“Your Coryo won’t save you.” The peacekeeper snarls, before firing the gun.

Two gunshots go off, and the body of yours and Sejanus fall to the ground in an instant.

Coriolanus Snow almost wants to barf, his eyes closed for a minute before reopening them again.

Had it really been worth it? Ratting you and Sejanus out so he could get home to the Capitol faster?

He thinks so when your family and the Plinths give him their fortune as a thank you for being such a good boyfriend and friend towards their son and daughter.

If only they knew, though. But Coriolanus would never let that happen, because no matter what, Snow lands on top.

And this? It was just the beginning.

#coriolanus is so mitski coded if he wasn’t a launtic #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #hunger games x reader #the hunger games x reader #ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow imagine

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e1dritchjackal0pe · 2 months

Text

ᴛʜᴇ ᴠᴏɪᴅ ᴄᴀʟʟꜱ

Summary: Your arranged marriage to the na-Baron is something that you look upon with a sense of dread and reluctance. His violence, brutality and cunning are something that haunts you. You should fear him. You do. But for some reason, you can't seem to stay away.

Warnings: 18+ content. MDI. AFAB, she/her pronouns. Reader is a virgin but not entirely inexperienced, virginity loss. Hints of morally gray reader. Oral (F!Receiving), biting and blood, PinV, non-protected sex, Canon typical violence (blood, death, gladiator fights). Feyd. Not proofread.

Notes: 20.4k words. The essence of enemies to lovers. The reader is an Atreides but not a daughter of Jessica. IDK ya'll, something about seeing Austin Butler bald and deranged has altered me.

𝔓𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦𝔦

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer.

Your heart is in your throat. It feels as though it's lodged itself in place between the cartilage and flesh to choke your windpipe, making each breath snag and tremble. You can practically feel it pulsing along your pharynx. You try to focus, steeling yourself by lacing your fingers together until you fear you might break them. Not even the litany that has been engrained in you since childhood serves to center your thoughts, but still you try. Chanting lowly in your head and quietly under your breath as not to be heard. As not to reveal your anxiety, but you know that the evidence of your distress must be more than obvious. And it had been very apparent since this morning, as you prepared for your travel to Giedi Prime where you will be married.

Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.

The looks that Lady Jessica had given you were harsh and piercing. The eyes of a teacher. You had found no forgiveness in her arms even though she has done her best to take the place of your mother. But she is a Bene Gesserit first. Always. Just as you must be. But you must also be an Atreides. Duty is your purpose. It runs in your blood. It's the very reason why you pull air into your lungs. It's why you were even born. You have to honor that. Even if it requires sacrifice. Even if fear trembles down each and every notch of your spine; even when your thoughts are scattered and wild; even with the entire trajectory of your life being placed into the palms of some of the most ruthless beings in the universe. You will survive.

I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me.

You swallow harshly, trying to force down your nerves with it but the way that the craft shudders and trembles with the strain of breaking through the foreign planet's atmosphere doesn't help. It only serves to make your inner turmoil worse. Your gaze sweeps around the cabin, a hollow thing meant for military, not comfort, and the presence of a small squad clad in their combat armor reminds you of the strained relationship that your family has nurtured with this house for several millennia. A reminder that you aren't supposed to be here on your own. Nearly clawing at your own hands and struggling to center yourself as the cold, dark walls of the ship tremble and shake like the stomach of starved animal. Your wedding was supposed to take place on Richese, a neutral planet that no longer governs political alliances with neither Caladan nor Giedi Prime. That is what had been negotiated long before you were even born, with both Houses having been too paranoid to allow both products of their lineage onto enemy territory. But a month before the wedding, the Baron had sent word. An invitation of sorts, that he wished to encourage the House of Atreides to allow the union to commence on his soil as a token of good faith. As a signal that all of the bad blood and the violence shared between each party could finally be laid to rest.

But as with most houses, it was more than just an invitation. It strengthened the Harkonnen image to place forth the olive branch and if Duke Leto refused it could be seen in bad light. A sign of weakness or distaste. The summoning could not be refused lest it smear the Atreides name in the eye of the Emperor, always a fickle and superficial man. Even with that logic, you can't help the spike of anger that rouses in your chest and threatens to burn. It's because of that sense, no matter how correct it may be, that you're sitting in this damned ship, breaking into the polluted atmosphere of a dead planet when you could have had just one more day on soil that wasn't obscured and marred by heavy cities and volcanic rock.

Selfish. You're just being selfish.

Even though she is not here to guide you, the image of Lady Jessica's eyes flash within your mind, sharp and exacting despite their light shade; amplified by the delicate, embroidered fabric that framed her head just this morning. School your face, her expression tells you. And she - or at least the mental image of her, is right. You can't let yourself fall to your emotions, no matter how strongly they want to eat you alive. You've prepared for this moment since your first breath. You've spent nearly every waking moment practicing in the ways of the Bene Gesserit under the guidance of Lady Jessica. You'vee spent countless hours poring over the history and politics of both houses in preparation for your future role; what must have amounted to months of studying the culture and customs of the Harkonnen. All of them seem to be rooted in violence and savagery in some way or another. Aggression and cunning are prized traits. Bloodshed is coveted. The people according to old texts and educational filmbooks are just as severe as their environment. An environment that they had cultivated from their brutal and avaricious nature, tearing up all of its resources until nothing was left.

You can't help but wonder if you will suffer the same fate.

But if you are going to be honest with yourself, it isn't the toxic hellscape or even the idea of marriage that puts you on edge. It is him. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is someone who is notorious for his violence. Stories of his conquests and cruelty echo out across the houses, Minor and Major; there is not a soul who hasn't heard of his reputation. And despite having been promised to him since before your birth, you haven't met the na-Baron once in your life. Both houses had been too stubborn to schedule an interaction between the two of you. Most likely due to mistrust. Plus, a meeting isn't necessarily required for a marriage to commence, not one amongst houses, at least. But the fact that you haven't so much as seen the na-Baron's face has always left you feeling horribly vulnerable. Like you have been left to navigate you footing in the dark and the slightest misstep might leave you to tumble into the void. It had been another reason why you have always been so adamant on learning of the Harkonnen people; some desperate venture to discover as much about your soon to be husband as possible. You've tried to paint some sort of image of him in your head with the information provided by word of mouth and old filmbooks. Gurney had been one of the first people to warn you of Harkonnen ruthlessness. Their proclivity towards greed and violence. A violence that they don't even spare their own people from.

"You will have to be strong," he told you just before you had boarded onto the star craft, eager to speak to you before you left forever. It was his worry you knew. He was panicked inside despite being the picture of composure. The look in his eyes had kept you frozen in place, locked onto him even with the mild thrum of chaos and bodies clamoring around you, servants and soldiers alike working to prep the ship for your flight, loading trunks and chests full of your personal belongings onto the carrier. It was firm; the type of resolution that is brought from experience. From a personal sort of pain and the glint of it left you feeling empty; gutted. The only thing that kept you centered was the grip of his hand on your forearm, firm and warm in its hold like it may help to drill his words better into your skull. "Every moment will be a fight for you. Harkonnen sniff out weakness like dogs. You cannot yield. Ever."

You've heard words like that about them all your life. Horror stories from Atreides soldiers who had encounters with opposing Harkonnen forces. Tales of stark, pale skin and the glint of snarling blackened teeth before they deliver a killing blow. Features that a younger version of yourself never would have imagined for her intended. But those naive, wistful fantasies that you used to entertain as a child are long gone now. Replaced by the harsh realities of war and bloodshed. When you were a girl, still ignorant to the true depth of your duties, you had imagined someone with kind, intelligent eyes as your future husband. Someone patient and understanding; even with the whispers of the Harkonnen's true nature lurking over you like leaping shadows. But back then you were young enough to have hope. Back then, you would dream of him too in the flashes of deep, piercing eyes; you'd hear the low rumble of a voice while blades flashed and carved through pale air.

And on some nights visions still torment you. But now they taunt with the sensation of phantom touches and the mirage of balmy skin that sears against you own so intently that sometimes it tears you from your slumber with ragged breaths and a humiliating heat between your thighs.

You can feel the pressure in the cabin shift around you, weighing over your head and bearing down on your shoulders as the ship continues its descent. Your ears pop, and the sound has the awful, paranoid visual of snapping bones and tendons projecting across your mind. You pull a heavy breath into your lungs, holding it there while you try to shift your thoughts onto something less violent. Escaping to fond memories to try and soothe yourself. For a just a moment you pretend that you are not here at all, but back home on Caladan. You can see the ocean. The long stretch of crystalline water, glittering underneath the cast of the balmy sunlight as trawlers coast along the current to capture netfuls of fish, looking like dots along the distant horizon. But it's always the wind that you love the most. Even when the skies are clear, unmarred from the blot of heavy rainclouds, you can always smell the presence of a storm in the air, perfuming the breeze with the earthy musk of petrichor and the fresh salt of the ocean. You can practically feel the brush of lush grass sweeping along your palms, prickling along the sensitive skin with the damp hint of the dew that seeps from the rich ground.

Your reverie is shattered to a million pieces when the metallic hum of the craft's engine reverberates across the walls and floor of the cabin, signaling that it is approaching the ground; preparing to land. Each pulse of the sharp groan sounds like the pound of a nail in a casket. You can just barely focus around the wild patter of your heartbeat in your ears and for a moment you think that you might become ill. You could still feel the warmth of your brother's arms around your body. The way that he had clung to you. Like he was afraid to let go; to watch you slip from his life. In turn you had latched onto him, hesitant to unwind your arms from him, trying to claim the feel and scent of him to memory. But you couldn't have remained that way forever, and when you had pulled away from each other, the corners of his mouth were perked up into a smile. But it was too dull, too forced to be truly happy. You saw something mournful peeking through it, even while he tried to appear composed for your sake. You know how much he opposes of your intended matrimony. You have eavesdropped on the arguments he has shared with your father behind closed doors, attempting to fight for your sake even though it was a lost cause. His fear that you might not survive the ruthlessness of the Harkonnen, his misguided guilt for you taking his intended place. It had made you sorry for him the first time he had confessed that remorse to you. That he felt as though he was the one to blame for your marriage because it was his initial future to wed into the Harkonnen House had he not been born a male. Even with your near constant insistence that it was not his burden to bear, he refused to shed the weight of his self-imposed guilt. Always so damn stubborn.

You had done your best to return his smile, softly squeezing his hand to comfort him and center your mind while the briny Caladan wind swept across the landing pad. But the memory cannot keep your heart from plummeting down to your gut when the craft finally touches the ground, shuddering lightly as it lands with a deep whir.

You're here. You are actually on Giedi Prime now.

There is officially no turning back.

You feel like a ghost when you are drawn to rise, and you hardly register the fact that you haven't moved from your place on the seating to stand on your feet once the ship is still. You feel like an empty vessel, seeing but not registering as everyone moves about the empty space with practiced ease to stand before the hatch. The small unit of four soldiers have all built a formation around you and your own handmaidens, who stand diligently behind you. On any other occasion, they would have lined themselves in front of you all as well. Especially during affairs with the Harkonnen. But this is not a regular affair, and as trivial as it may seem, something as simple as guards posed in front of the Duke's daughter could be viewed as an act of distrust. A blight on your wedding and the union of the houses.

Despite the way that everyone holds themselves; the images of discipline with perfect posture and heads held high, the apprehension that taints the atmosphere could be mistaken for a tangible thing. You could still see glimpses of tension set in the soldiers' shoulders; you could see the rigidity in their necks, anticipation and worry hidden underneath their armor.

Your father should be here too. Your family. But you know that they can't. A matter of ill, convenient timing that required them to board their own ship to leave for Arrakis. The Emperor had passed the fief to the House of Atreides, calling them to abandon their position on Caladan - to abandon your ancestorial home - in favor for the desert and the production of spice. It was an unexpected development, but one that your father would not turn down. As angry as you would like to be, you know how difficult this is for him. You have wanted to blame him for so long. And for a while you did. He's your father. He is supposed to protect you. To keep your happiness and security in mind. But because of the perspective, it is also easy to forget that he is more than just your father, he is also a Duke, with countless lives to defend and shelter. He is an Atreides.

You are an Atreides, and there is no call you do not answer.

You had shared one final look with him on Caladan, underneath the golden rays of the morning sun. You didn't flinch or waver underneath his gaze. You remained firm, and some sort of understanding passed between the both of you, melting away the hatred and betrayal that ran thick in your blood stream. In that split second, you saw so much pass through his eyes: determination, acceptance and something like a bare shred of loss before it was quickly masked by unwavering resolve. A resolve that you too had to master.

A dull jolt sounds out across the dark, metallic space and with it the large hatch of the ship begins to open, exposing a sliver of pale light. Butterflies erupt inside of your gut at the sight of the glow, brushing along your stomach and threatening to overcome you with a rush of nausea. But you hold yourself still, attempting to swallow down the unease but suddenly your throat is bone dry and stuffed with cotton. Perhaps the only thing that keeps you in place is the promise the Feyd-Rautha will not be present at your arrival. A small respite that your father had been able to secure you in the form of a Caladan wedding custom; that your husband should not be able to see you before your ceremony, lest the matrimony fall to bad luck. And in truth it is a tradition. One that has trickled down through the ages from Old Earth, so it was not necessarily done by means of deceit. Even so, the Baron had apparently been less than thrilled by the prospect of keeping you and his nephew separated once on the same soil, though it seems that your father still had managed to persuade him regardless. A small victory for you at least.

Now all you can do is hope that the Baron has stuck to his word.

You watch with ice in your veins and frozen lungs as the ramp continues to lower, yawning open akin to the jaws of an animal that threatens to discard you at the feet of starving beasts like scraps. More of that harsh light flows into the dark of the cabin, spilling over the heads of the soldiers, eating up the floor until it slips over your body, rising up over you until it reaches your eyes like a blaze; threatening to blind you with its intensity. You wince from the brightness of it, blinking rapidly until your eyes adjust to the absence of shadows. The surprised, low hiss that erupts from behind you, tells you that one of your handmaidens has also been taken off guard and blinded.

With the continuation of its descent, it begins to reveal a blackened skyline of buildings that rise like slopping monoliths. Massive structures eat up the ground and cast stretching shadows across the dark platform. It strikes you that the little bit of the visible sky is a pale, as though a flat storm cloud had consumed the heavens. It isn't blue like the skies back home, or even orange or anything. It is simply a white void. It's all monochrome. Devoid of color and life. Everywhere that you look is either a piercing black or a violent white that almost burns to behold, and it is with a quick, almost hesitant inspection downward that you discover that the emerald hue of your silk dress has turned a shade of a deep smoky black from the strange illumination.

But you don't get time to dwell on the discovery for long before the ramp meets the ground with a dull groan. It might as well as be a death sentence. You just barely catch sight of the of the figures that are lined along the platform, silently waiting for you to step out into the light. In your stupor, you have noticed that the number of Harkonnen that wait for your exit is a rather small group. It is not a massive procession with banners or celebration; there is no intrigued crowd of citizens awaiting to evaluate you. No more than five Harkonnen stand out on the platform, focusing on you with the distance the separates your parties with clasped hands and heads held high. The Baron it seems, holds no excitement for your arrival and has made no effort to welcome you on Giedi Prime. The message has been made clear of what he thinks of this union. Of you.

The bastard.

The world has gone hush. Dead silent as everyone awaits your move. And it is with that thought suddenly that you realize that everyone is waiting for you to take action. You are no longer expected to follow. You aren't allowed the crutch of following after your father or Lady Jessica's footsteps. They aren't here to guide you anymore. You steel yourself with a deep breath, drawing up your shoulders as you will yourself to step forward. Your legs are suddenly heavy like they have been strapped down with boulders and iron, but you force them into a stride regardless. Even when each move forward feels like a motion closer to your demise.

You can hear the gentle clink of your Handmaidens heels as they dutifully trail after you. It gives you some comfort, no matter how small, that you have some familiar faces amongst you. That you aren't completely alone here.

Still, you try to distract yourself. And in some mad scramble, your mind latches onto some old passage that you had read back on Caladan during one of your distant studies. It has you daring to sneak a few glances upward to the pale sky in between your focus forward, squinting through the glare, ignoring the way that the delicate chained veil draped across your face nudges against your eyelashes in your search for the sun. You had heard of its description countless times, seen holograms of it before, but none of them had managed to do the true thing honesty. In its blaze, it is claimed to cast an infrared shine which explains the bleak, washout coloration of the planet. But seeing the source of said lighting was entirely different. You do your best not to openly gawk at. To not stare at it for too long. The last thing that you want is to go blind; your fortune is terrible enough as is. But you're unable to stop yourself from stealing fleeting peeks at the star. If you didn't know any better, you could have mistaken it for a sort of eclipse. It looks like a black hole has torn through the heavens, gaping like an open wound, and you would have no idea that it was burning if not for the streams of light radiating from its rounded edges like a halo.

Even with the remnants of your hatred smoldering through your body and turning your muscles rigid, you can't deny that there is a kind of odd beauty about the star. It's strange to see something that you had learned about so many years ago, and there is some detached part of you that has not fully accepted that you are even truly here. That small piece is still safely tucked away on Caladan, admiring as the sea meets the cliffside in a rolling crest of foam and froth.

But that still is not enough to keep you from your reality.

You all come to a unanimous halt, standing to leave a decent breadth between you and the Harkonnen. You have heard many things of the Baron of Giedi Prime. His guile. His hedonism. Whispers among the houses claimed him to be a gargantuan man. Someone whose intensity and mannerisms alone command attention and make men cower. The Baron, you quickly deduce, is not here. It seems that he has sent his advisors and servants in his stead. Whether that be from arrogance or indolence, or hatred, you are not sure.

The man who stands at the in the center of the greeting committee holds himself with an air of importance. Back straight and hands clasped as he analyzes your small party. He is awfully pallid, just as his other companions are, a product of being denied ultraviolet rays that could be found in your planets own sun. The hulking black star cradled in the sky above you is hardly able to provide a proper tan it seems. The stark, unforgiving light casted from the solar body bathes you all in a layer of an achromatic hue, and it glints across the rounded skin of his bare scalp. They are all bald, you have easily observed, and you can just faintly recall reading a chapter in regard to Harkonnen beauty standards. Their proclivity to remove every ounce of hair from their bodies as a sign of cleanliness and purity; the means to extract themselves from their meek beginnings and perhaps, to a degree, a way to separate themselves from humanity. But the dark vertical strip that stretches across the expanse of his bottom lip signifies his position as a Mentat.

"Lady Atreides," the Harkonnen advisor greets, voice deceptively placid and monotone. "We are grateful for your arrival. I trust that the trip was respectable." His words are kind, but the expression on his face is decidedly neutral. There is something about him that instantly unnerves you. Be it the unrushed nature of his mannerisms or the sly look in his eyes, you are not sure, but he sets you on edge.

You force yourself to speak, calming your features into something just as blank and fixed as his own. "It was fair," you answer truthfully, before pointedly scanning the surrounding area. "It is a beautiful planet." A lie is you have ever said one, and the Mentat does not appear to be ignorant to your sad attempt at charm. Even with the unmoved aura that radiates from him, you are sure that you spotted a small glimmer of amusement pass through the dark of his eyes.

"I am pleased you think so," he replies easily. "In any case, I have my orders to deliver you to the Baron as soon as possible. An event is being held in the honor of your union to the na-Baron. You shall not want to miss it."

The confession feels as though it has doused you with ice water, but you refuse to show your distress. You're not stupid. You know that at some point, you would have to face the Baron. You were just hoping that it would not have been so soon. You should have known better, you suppose, that the Baron would give you single moment of reprieve once on his planet, and now you are suddenly not so sure that you want to have to attend a celebration of any sort.

"Wonderful," you force a smile, one as polite you can manage while making sure to keep your voice gentle and inviting.

"Leave your soldiers here. They won't be necessary."

The request leaves you troubled. For a moment you stand there silently, a little dumbly even. That last thing you want to do is leave your only form of proper protection outside on an unfamiliar world. Especially one as hostile and deceitful as Giedi Prime. But you do not have many options here. You are in no true form of power. You are not yet married to the na-Baron, you are lightyears away from your own planet - which doesn't belong to your family anymore by the Emperor's decree - and your father must be on Arrakis by now; even farther away. You are now the one who dictates your fate and survival, and although promised to the na-Baron, your life is still not secured. You must be tactful.

You turn your head to look over your shoulder at the soldiers who diligently stand behind you and your handmaidens. Your focus meets the unwavering stare of the lieutenant; his hardened countenance, his lips pressed into a firm line. The nod you give him is subtle, but it is still a command, and with it, he and his men silently step back.

When you return your attention back on the Mentat it is difficult to tell if he is pleased or not with how blank he keeps his features. It's unnerving but then he spins on his heels without any more fanfare and his fellow Harkonnen are quick to shadow him. Hesitation bears heavy in your gut, but even with your instinct telling you to run; to flee, you steel yourself. Drawing in a deep breath to clear your mind, you follow.

You are not sure what you had expected to find when you had allowed the Mentat to lead you. Some wild, senseless part of you feared that he may have taken you to your death. Led you to a trap to be slaughtered. But no dagger has been raised to your chest. He has not summoned soldiers from the shadows to pull you away and toss you into a tomb. Or maybe in a way he has.

The doorway that you stand before is daunting. Affixed in front of you like a rival. It is such a trivial, ordinary thing. You have passed through thresholds millions of times in your years, twisted knobs and guided doors open to pass through them. But suddenly, such a mundane thing seems to stand out like a hazardous sign - a bad omen. You know who lies beyond it. Who you must face. Now your bravery threatens to allude you. To leave you abandoned and flailing. It does not help that your handmaidens had been dismissed for you. Guided away by Harkonnen servants, and when you had asked the Mentat as to where they were being taken, what intentions lie ahead for them, he didn't answer. His silence on the matter has left you disturbed; fueled your mind to wonder and theorize about the worst. That they may be harmed.

He stands next to you now, just as silent as before, watching you expectedly.

No. You cannot flounder here. You cannot cower or cry. Your duty - your lineage will not allow it.

With a newfound determination, you step forward with your chin raised proudly. Activated by the motion, the dark door slips open, beckoning you enter, and you answer the invitation without wavering. The Mentat doesn't follow after you, but you hardly pay that any mind, too focused on analyzing the room that you now stand in. The space is open and capacious, and you spot a line of servant girls rowed up to the right with their backs against the wall. They don't glance up when you look at them, even though you can tell that they are aware of your presence. They remain silent, eyes trained on the floor and posture rigid. There is fear in them.

As if drawn by a magnetic pull, you attention leaves them to wander to the opposite end of the room. His back is facing you, but even then, you are certain that all of the stories you have heard of him will not prepare you for this moment. Even as he perches - lounges on the support of his seat from fully across the room, his presence commands your attention. The order that his being silently instructs is only amplified by the cool, harsh light that pours down around him from the viewing window, highlighting his shape as he sits like a gargoyle poised. The gossip was true, it seems, he is a corpulent man and shares the same ashen complexation as the other Harkonnen that you have seen thus far. And suddenly as curiosity burns in you to see the face of the person who has harmed so many, who has left his blight on the galaxy.

"Are you joining me, or are you intent on staying in the shadows?"

The voice is so rough and crude that it shocks you, prickling over your skin with the all the coarseness of sandpaper, and you just barely refrain from showing your displeasure at its harshness. It's graveled as it passes into your ears, but it seizes one's attention instantly, causing the hairs scattered along your body and at the nape of your neck to stand on end. Still you move forward, by the impulse of your own intrigue or the authoritative quality of his voice, you aren't certain, but you cross the breadth that separates you all the same. Each step reveals more of his face to you. The slope of his nose, the crow's feet that cluster around the corners of his eyes, the prominent frown that weighs upon his face. He doesn't spare you a glance as you stop beside him; intently focused on what lies outside of the balcony.

"Lord Baron," you greet, nodding your head down and bending your knees in a curtsy.

His hand raises up in a manner than almost seems reprimanding, and it causes you to freeze still, staring at those fingers like he might mean to strike you. But the curl of them is far too lax to deliver a proper blow and it is enough to give you some relief.

"There is no need for formalities, " he speaks. Then his stare is on you: flaying you open, evaluating, weighing, searching your worth. But underneath the judgement of someone like him, you cannot waver. "We are family now, are we not?"

The mere implication has you fighting off the urge to shudder in disgust. Instead, you straighten yourself and manage a polite smile. Or you hope that it seems polite at least. Thankfully, he doesn't wait for your answer. He casts a brief glance to the vacant chair close you, and you need no verbal instruction on what he wants, even though he still gives it.

"Sit," he offers. Commands really.

It pains you to comply, to follow the will of the man that you have been guided to resent since you realized consciousness, no matter how small the order, but you swallow your pride.

Carefully you turn on your feet, being mindful not to nudge the small table that is posted beside the chair, and you make note of the pair of theater binoculars that are displayed on the counter, waiting to be used. Gathering the light pull of your skirt to sit without crumbling the fabric, you allow yourself to recline in the seat and try to ignore how close you are to the Baron. But you suppose that you should learn to come to terms with it. He will be a permanent fixture in your life, whether you like it or not. Though it does not make it any easier to swallow down the bitter taste of loathing on your tongue. Desperate for a distraction your eyes are quick to look out past the boarders of the balcony and the sight that greets you latches onto your focus instantly. It is a wonder how you had even managed to miss the view upon your entrance. But in your defense, you were a little preoccupied. Now you are hardly able to look away. The sheer mass of the structure leaves you captivated. Great, sweeping, walls rise; climbing up towards the blank heavens with rows of seats secured between the hulking barriers. Pale, shifting shapes roar and cheer inside the stands in a fervent display of excitement and anticipation. People you quickly realize. All of them chanting loudly. But the distortion their voices all layered up into a chaotic stream makes it difficult to understand it. The walls that hold them and the very room you sit in encircle a massive plot of bare earth. It is an arena.

You have seen a few of them in your lifetime. Visited the old coliseums on Caladan. The same ones that your very ancestors had fought wild bulls in. You walked along the ancient, stone walls and pillars, cupped the golden sand within your palm and allowed it to run through your fingers. But the sheer scale of this structure is mindboggling and the number of people that have all massed together to bear witness to its exhibition is even greater. The Mentat had promised you a celebration in the honor of your marriage, and you had been left to wonder what that said celebration may have been. But now you have your answer. There is the evidence of a ferocious fight having taken place in the arena. The face of the white sand bellow has been disturbed. Blemished and smudged by footprints and the clear sign of a struggle; that the fighters had rolled along the ground and tussled for their breath. But even more damning is the dark stains that are streaked and pooled along the course earth. Even with the coloration altered black by the dark sun above, you know that it is blood.

"A gladiator fight," you conclude aloud, and there is even an edge of scornful humor on your tone. "If you truly wanted a spectacle, you could have me thrown down there. I'm sure your people would love to watch an Atreides be slaughtered." You are not sure where the comment comes from. A sudden burst of confidence or perhaps defiance. You regret your snark as soon as you register the words, but it is too late for apologies now. You simply squeeze your clasped hands together tighter, even while your head is held high. A raspy, amused sound erupts from beside you, like air escaping a puncture, and you just vaguely realize that it is a chuckle. The Baron is laughing even as the smile hardly reaches his face. It is a small sound. Barely even qualifying as a laugh, but it eases you still.

"A spectacle indeed." He says it as though he is in on a secret that you are not privy to. Part of a joke you might never know, and it immediately snuffs out the small sense of composure that you had achieved. "But I have no use for you dead."

"Then what use do you have of me?" You pry.

He hums, a hushed, guttural sound. "Do you know why you are to be married to my nephew?"

The question gives you pause. There are many duties that you are required to perform in the union with the na-Baron. It is a political alliance first and foremost. A joining of two rival houses, meant to put to rest the animosity that has burned between you both for over 10,000 years. But it is also much more than that. You are to give him an heir as well, the continuation of his lineage. But the Harkonnen are not the only ones who intend for you to produce a child: the Bene Gesserit also demand a progeny of your union (though the Baron must remain ignorant to that design). It is why your mother had been sent the Duke in the first place, to correct Lady Jessica's mistake and birth a daughter. To birth you. So much is dependent on this marriage to flourish. Much that you yourself probably are not even privy to, but it is your duty to perform regardless. If you fail, your family name will forever be smeared and the possibility of the Kwisatz Haderach may be lost to eternity. And you will not allow your mother's death to be in vain.

"Yes."

Once more he turns his head to face you and his eyes glint with a deadly intensity. "Then you know of your purpose. "

It is a plain sentence, but it speaks volumes in its simplicity and its intent is not lost on you. It is a warning. A set of instructions that you are meant to follow. Keep your head down, your mouth shut and fulfil your function as promised and you may make it out of this arrangement unscathed. It has anger flaring in the pit of your stomach, prickling over your skin and heating up your face. The desire to say something in defense of yourself rises up high, but you know that you must hold your tongue. You are sure that he can see your opposition in your eyes as much as you try to control it, but he does not mention it. His vision roves over your visage like he is studying you and your reactions, in search of weakness.

"Now watch." He says and returns his attention back to the bloodied sand beneath.

Your eyebrows furrow, openly showing you confusion. What the Baron desires you to see, you don't know. You can hardly imagine what he has in store for you but given the nature of the arena and the Baron himself, it surely won't bode well for you. You don't dare to question him or ask that he elaborate. Your mouth remains fixed shut as you survey the colosseum with your breath locked within your lungs. An unwanted type of anticipation prickles at your fingertips and toes; spurred on by the way that the crowd rouses into a frenzy and the vibrations of their riotous cries strike across the atmosphere. The sound of their shouting spikes until it is thunderous, and you can hear the blunt sound of their fists beating against the stadium like a hammer striking down on an iron nail. Despite the many voices overlapping and yelling to be heard of the others, somehow in their clamoring, their words have become clearer. And it is not just words that they are spouting. It is a name.

Feyd-Rautha.

You are certain that your lungs cease to function. That they die inside your chest while you still live. The na-Baron is going to fight. You're going to see him. Despite wanting to slip your eyes closed, your body betrays you, leading you to scour along the dark sweeping walls of the arena in a terrified search that does not stop until your vision lands on what looks to be a massive entrance built into the bordering wall of the colosseum. Your heart flutters like a startled bird, quivering wildly like a pair of wings would. "I thought my father said that we would not see each other before the wedding?"

"He said that he could not look at you. But there was no discussion of you witnessing him," the Baron answers.

You do not know why the prospect of it makes you shift uncomfortably in your seat, wishing that you could sink into the cushion and vanish. Perhaps it's because seeing him would truly sink the severity of your new reality in. There would truly be no avoiding it once you do. All you can think of is all of the rumors and gossip that you had heard over the many years. The horrible tales of a psychopath. A man unhinged. No better than a rabid dog on a frayed rope. People spoke of a remorseless monster that delighted in blood and was unflinching in delivering death. Other's claimed that his appearance is just as terrifying as his actions. That he's gaunt and hideous to behold with awful, jagged teeth and bloodshot eyes.

That is not a truth that you are ready to face, and your desire to remain ignorant to the possibility of his unsightly features burns in your gut. You are so caught up in your own anxieties that you hardly register the blaring of the announcer's voice sounding across the stadium, warbling over the sound system to praise and declare the arrival of the man who you have been dreading. You're entirely conflicted; transfixed as the entrance on the far end of the arena begins to slip open, even though your instincts tell you to turn your focus elsewhere. The floor, your hands, the crazed crowd. Anything. But is like watching a great fire or a calamity. The entire time your consciousness warns you not to look, but you are unable to. It is almost as if you have been casted under a horrible spell. Bewitched to see him even though you don't wish to.

You stare helplessly at the threshold of the arena, and for a moment you wonder if it might be the entrance to the underworld instead. A dark, consuming void for a demon to come crawling out of. But this demon does not crawl. He marches.

A figure strides out from the gateway wielding two recurved blades and the crowd erupts in an exhilarated cry. From the distance and height, you are unable to discern his features, but the way that he carries himself is already more than enough to give insight to his personality. His steps are long, eating up the ground in quick, measured paces; his shoulders are raised and straight, exuding pride. It's the saunter of someone confident in themselves and their abilities. Someone who is not just in their element but basking in it. He raises an arm high in the air, brandishing his fist and the weapon he clutches in it to address the masses, pointing the tip of the blade to sky as it erupts in a flurry of strange fireworks that burst and flourish like blots of heavy ink. The crowd punch their own arms up in turn and shout his name like an impassioned prayer.

The apprehension chilling your chest begins to thaw, giving way to a strange sort of curiosity and before you know it, you're reaching for the theater binoculars placed on the table beside you. Anticipation thrums in your veins, nearly making your fingers shake around your grip of the handle as you lift the device up to your face, lining it up to peer into the eyepieces. It takes a moment for your brain to process what it is seeing. Who it's seeing. It's surreal how his once distant, blurred features have become clear and amplified underneath the optics of the binoculars. The familiarity of him strikes you like an unforgiving wave despite never having met him before. But everything, from his gait and the shape of his face seems as though you have gazed upon it a thousand times, ran your fingertips across the rise of his cheek bones and the plains of his face even though you haven't. The familiarity terrifies you, but it also keeps your attention firmly locked onto him.

What catches your attention first are his eyes. It is difficult to tell their shade from underneath the monochrome emittance of the sun - they seem dark but some buried, distant instinct whispers that they're truly blue. A light shade akin the ocean, glittering in shades of pale cerulean and teal. It strikes you how they burn with a calculated excitement. A dangerous, fervid type of delight as he gauges the crowd with rapt attention. Even with the intense light bathing most of the scenery shades of white you know that the pale complexion of his skin is natural. Paired with the sharp angles that create his features it makes him seem as though he could have been cut from marble; a statue gifted with life and will. His lips, you shamelessly notice, are plush, and are set into a soft pout.

Even with resentment for the Harkonnen still fueling your heartbeat you're unable to deny that the stories and claims that you had heard about his appearance were awful exaggerations. Absolute lies. You don't want to admit it, but there is a kind of beauty about him. Not one that you would have found on your home planet, but he's quite attractive in a way that is almost lethal. It strikes you in a way that it shouldn't.

You continue to watch him as he comes to halt in the center of the arena, twisting his feet in a circle to look upon every section of the crowd before facing the direction of the balcony. He begins to lower himself to the ground, resting a single knee onto the sand in a sort of bow. All the while his eyes are trained upward, dangerously close to where you sit and you know that he's looking towards the Baron, kneeling to show his respects. All you can do is pray that he will pay your presence no mind. That he won't care enough to acknowledge you.

It seems that the universe has no desire to answer your prayers this day.

His dark focus flickers onto you so suddenly that you hardly have time to register it. As your eyes meet through the glass of the device, you suddenly feel as though you have been laid bare. The deafening cries of the masses fade down into a distant hum as all of your focus centers down onto him. You've never felt so exposed in your life. Like all of your every part of you has been spread open and seen; the darkest facets of you are held forward. It's like he's actually seeing you somehow. Peering at you through the distance that keeps you apart. But it's impossible for him to truly make out your features underneath the guise of the decorative chains that drapes over your face. He can't properly see you from your place this high. Still it feels as if he is looking directly at you, past the distortion of the distance and the cover of your veil and peering into your soul.

You drop the pair of binoculars away from your face, severing the image of his focused gaze and the odd connection that had been created. Still you can't drop your attention from his figure down in the arena, but the loss of the close, magnified image of the device offers you some type of reprieve. He had felt too close, too near with their usage and the distance helps to soothe you. And with your regular vision provided to you, you are able to notice the other entrances posted along the walls are opening.

The na-Baron realizes this as well. His head cocks in the direction of the open threshold to his far left, rising up from his crouched stance to properly assess it, eyes trained on the dark gapping gateway as a man ambles out from the shadows. Two others emerge from separate doorways on opposite sides of the colosseum, and Feyd-Rautha shifts his body to appraise them both in their slow approach. The three of them all but shamble towards the na-Baron, feet dragging lethargically across the sand like they caught under a drunken stupor. The realization dawns on you easily, and you are unable to stop yourself from turning to face the Baron with bewildered scowl. "They're drugged?" You accuse, sparing no judgement in your tone.

"We cannot risk the safety of the na-Baron," he explains without shame, and draws a deep drag from a smoking pipe clutched within his hand. "Measures must be taken."

You want to argue. But what use would that be? There is not an ounce of remorse or shame in his body. You've known this for years; you didn't have to meet him to realize that. You have heard countless tales of the Harkonnen's selfishness and deceit, so it should be no surprise that they're underhanded enough to rig a fight to the death in their favor. That they couldn't even do their slaves and prisoners the respect of dying in a fair fight. And the na-Baron stands so proudly in the center of that ring, holding himself high as though the scales have not been tipped in his favor. You knew that you were to wed a sadist. A violent, venomous man. It was a shame that you had to marry one that is also dishonorable.

In the prisoners' approach, blackened figures seem to materialize from the walls of the arena looking like creatures out of a twisted fable. There is a great number of them, six you believe, if your hasty count does not fail you, all clad in a dark skintight material. But even more strangely are the horned headdresses that they all wear; it extends over their countenances to make them appear faceless and inhuman. They vigilantly wander along the border of the arena, and some even dare to skulk close to the slaves as they near the na-Baron, wielding some sort of weapon within their hands like they are prepared to strike the fighters if necessary. They must be referees of some sort, but their costumes make them look like dark spirits instead.

This game truly is devised in Feyd-Rautha's favor.

The gladiator-slave that approaches from the left is the closest, covering the distance that separates him and the na-Baron quickly despite being lamed by the hinderance of drugs. With the raucous roar of the crowd resonating across the air, the suspense is palpable, hanging heavy and almost painful like a breath that has been held for too long and the people are desperate for release. You can't help the way that you watch expectantly, holding onto the handle of the binoculars like it might help keep you grounded while you observe Feyd-Rautha from the safety of your perch.

He faces the approaching fighter. And for a moment you think that he is going to make the man hobble to over to him entirely, too cruel or perhaps even lazy to meet his competitor head on. But when the fighter brandishes his sword in an overreaching arch Feyd lunges forward on spry feet, cutting up the small remaining bit of distance with two massive strides and blocks the blade with his own. The arc that the prisoner had raised his weapon in was far too high. It left his most vital organs exposed to be gutted, and the blink of an eye the na-Baron takes the opening, deftly shoving the tip of his opposing weapon into the man's stomach and driving it in deep. The fighter's body goes limp near instantly, the hand holding his weapon slackens and when Feyd-Rautha pulls his sword from his opponent's stomach, he stumbles back on weak legs before tipping back onto the sand, lying belly up in a dead weight to bleed out on the ground.

You have heard of death all your life. Soldiers of your house have shared their stories of gore and anguish to you before. The horrors of the battlefield. And you yourself are no stranger to blood and bruises, having been trained by the best of your father's ranks and even Lady Jessica herself in the ways of fighting and hand to hand combat. Your teachings were meant for survival. Defense. But this is senseless murder set in the guise of entertainment. Cruelty.

Feyd-Rautha does not share the sentiment. He twists around to face the remaining fighters, mouth twisted into a feral snarl, muscles tense, ready to deliver another killing blow. He is clearly on some type of rush after claiming his first kill and his eyes dart between the pair of gladiators, gauging which one to attack first. Both of the prisoners have synced their steps as best as they can, with one coming towards the na-Baron from the front while the other nears from the back, intending to slay him together.

But Feyd does not appear to be stressed by the prospect in the slightest, in fact you are sure that even from your elevated height you can still make out the presence of a smile on his lips. Delighted and fueled by the rush of adrenaline and the hope of slaughter. He evaluates them both carefully, waiting them out. He doesn't have to wait long though, because suddenly the one who stands behind is rushing towards him in a move that is entirely too impatient, the lapse in judgement probably brought on by the influence of the substance coursing through his veins. The other fighter is still too far from Feyd to offer any assistance, making them both fail in their effort to overwhelm him and attack at once. The na-Baron deflects the strike of the prisoner's sword easily, shoving the man back with the union of their blades to create enough space to deliver a harsh bone rattling kick to the man's bare chest. He stumbles back a few feet, dust spraying in his flounder as he struggles to collect himself from the soiled earth.

Feyd doesn't have time to strike him down while he is vulnerable, because the second fighter finally reaches him, dipping his body low with the intent to strike his sword into the na-Baron's unguarded back, aimed for the spine. But Feyd is unsurprised by the attack; smooth and effortless in his movements as he rotates around on his feet to slip from the blades course and with the glint of silver the man's throat is sliced as he passes the na-Baron. You hardly would have realized that his neck had been cut at all if not for the way that rivulets of black have begun to pour from the wound, slipping down the pale hue of his skin and dripping to the bleached sand below before he collapses.

The crowd somehow manages to erupt with even more passion to goad their na-Baron on dispatching the last man. But Feyd doesn't move on prisoner while he's still down on the ground, up righting himself on sluggish, weak knees. It is hard to stomach the sight of it, and you're certain that you can feel the oily, distant impression of nausea bubbling in your stomach. It urges you to look away, but you can't. You are frozen still. Locked into place as you watch Feyd pace around the arena like a predator stalking the bars of its enclosure. He's impatient in his wait for the fighter to finally get up on his feet, and you find yourself a little disbelieving that he would even allow the prisoner that little bit of respect, instead of slaying him while he was down and unable to properly defend himself. Maybe there is some honor in him after all. It's buried and diluted, but it seems there may be a shred of it still.

The gladiator finally raises himself to his feet, spreading his legs wide to distribute his weight between his feeble legs. You can see resolve slip across the man's body, straightening his shoulders as best as he can to secure the grip he has on his weapon. But it only prompts more of that amusement to flicker over Feyd's features before he springs towards his opponent. They meet in the clash of lethal blades, and their bodies twist and move like well-oiled machines. Even being drugged and exhausted, the prisoner's movements are powerful and practiced, but you doubt that it will be much of a match for Feyd. He has too many aspects in his favor. The game has fully been fabricated for his victory. But even with that in mind, you would be foolish not to acknowledge the way that the na-Baron uses his body. It is truly a sight - hypnotic almost. The slices he takes with his sword and the strikes that he bares down at his rival are tight. Swift, calculated blows that are charged with raw strength. He acts with pure, practiced confidence. It's clear that the art of combat comes as easily as breathing to him; second nature. The sight of him dodging and deflecting jabs underneath the extreme shine of the dim sun is an impressive display, and you can't help but wonder how well he would fair under the pressure of a fight with real stakes.

Maybe it was the controlled vehemence of his maneuvers and how skillfully he brandishes his blade, but you think that he would thrive.

The gladiator is still alive, outlasting all of his fellow prisoners and it's honestly a wonder that he has made it this far. But you don't miss the casual way that Feyd holds himself, the security in the slices he delivers and how easily he dodges and moves around his opponent. Often dipping low into the man's space to nick his flesh with small, annoying cuts before dancing out of his field of reach. He's playing with him. Drawing out the fight like a bored cat toying with a wounded mouse. You can see the hope and determination dying in the gladiator with each passing second; it melts from his limbs, giving way to a venomous, mindless agitation. It makes him sloppy.

He leaps at Feyd with little thought, desperate to get a decent lick in but the timing is once again ill and his body too open. The mistake does not go ignored and the na-Baron uses the mishap to sweep his opponents legs out from underneath him. And curiously, he casts one of his blades aside, banishing it to the sand. But you don't have to wonder for long before his hand strikes out like a serpent to grip ahold of the fighter's hair, using the leverage he has on the sluggish prisoner's head to harshly force him down and secure him on his knees. You can see the way that the man's face twists into a pained grimace, teeth gnashed together to fight off his agony as he pants raggedly, chest rising and falling with labored breaths. Feyd stands behind him like some sort of figure of death. A creature sent to drag weary, tortured souls to their end.

You see the gladiators loose grip twitch around the handle of his sword, struggling to build up the last remaining scraps of his energy to swing the blade back and drive into the na-Baron's ribcage. But he doesn't have time to deliver the blow. Feyd raises his own weapon, hitching his arm back to build up tension in his hold. In that exact moment, you are certain that your eyes meet. That somehow, between the distance, his gaze reaches your own, focused in its intent like he is looking for your approval, like he is gifting you a sacrifice in your honor. You hardly have time to think of the implications of it before he drives the sword forward into the back of his victim's neck, severing the man's spinal cord and shoving it forward until the tip of the blade peeks through his throat. It is a horrid display of brutality. The violent sight almost forces a gasp from you, and you can feel your body shudder at the presentation of it. Your mind has long since gone blank, too rattled and shocked to form a coherent thought and the frenzied way the masses arise and breakout into a rapturous applause fills you brain like a haze with the wicked, rhythmic chanting of his name.

He extracts the blade from the captive's body, spraying a dark splatter of blood across the pale sand with the pull and lifts the gore-soaked weapon up into the air in a silent claim of his victory.

"Is he everything you had imagined?"

The Baron's course timbre breaks you from your daze. Your head swivels to him like a doll, but the challenge proposed in his tone rouses your focus to the center. He wants you to be afraid. To shy away from his nephew. Why you aren't sure. Perhaps he simply enjoys the idea of an Atreides cowering, but you will give him no such pleasure. You harden your gaze before you speak next, making sure to project your resolve clearly when you answer.

"He's perfect." It scares you because it doesn't even feel like a lie. It leaves your tongue too easily, like the compliment belonged there. Like your body and soul held it as a truth that you aren't ready to accept, and you're not sure how to cope with that. But what you say next surprises you even more.

"I want to meet him."

A part of you had hoped that the Baron would refuse your request. That he would stick to firm to your father's traditions and prohibit you from seeing the na-Baron until the wedding ceremony. But you know better than to think that he would honor or be controlled by old superstitions. All too soon you find yourself being led by timid servant who wordlessly guides you deep into the inner depths of the arena. The look that the Baron had spared you before you left had been unsettling and sharp, and it made you wonder if you have agreed to go to your own execution. In your descent, the rabid cries of the masses fade into a distant warble, and with it, the corridors become dim and chilled like the walls of a forgotten crypt. The caution in your gut churns with that treacherous sense of anticipation and you struggle to concentrate past the separation in your emotions. You're not sure if you should be fearful or intrigued and it leaves you caught between a confusing sort of purgatory.

The little bit of suspense hanging over you reminds you of when you used to dream about meeting him when you were both young. Nearly longed for it even, when you'd lose yourself to childish flights of fancy and daydreamed of love and adoration. It scares you to think that the sense of pining you had once entertained for him may have never truly gone away. Even with the stories of his brutish conquests, a blemish on your naive yearning. A stain of red; soaked with the scent of iron and viscera.

The sight of his violent display down in the arena seemed to confirm all of the horrid rumors that you have heard throughout the years. His indifference towards death, how casually he is able to take a life. It should all disgust you. And to a degree it does. It coats your tongue with something acetous and tart. It makes a shiver threaten to tremble down your spine. But as much as you wish to hide from it, you can't deny that he intrigues you. That the sight of him gazing upon you from the ashen sands of the colosseum like you were an ambiguity that he desired to unravel made your body thrum. You wonder if he would look at you so openly in the same way once you are both on even ground. Or if perhaps, some pathetic, traitorous part of you had simply imagined it.

The servant stops suddenly before a wide threshold, forcing you to still in your tracks to watch as she steps to the side and bows silently without so much as meeting your eyes. And then she leaves, turning sharply on her feet with the gentle echo of her feet pattering along the obsidian floor while she skitters away.

You're on your own now.

You're not sure what you will find when you cross this barrier: pain, misery . . . pleasure. A primordial type of anxiousness wells up inside of you, screaming at you to turn heel and run. You could do so easily. Escape these dismal, tenebrous chambers before he even realizes that you're here. But you're quick to squash that wild impulse. It is a dangerous thing to entertain. You must eliminate that urge all together. You're not an animal. You are an Atreides. A Bene Gesserit. You have survived the Gom Jabbar. You passed the test. And you will survive this.

With no further hesitation you step forward, focusing on sound of your dress whispering over the floor as a means to center yourself. As soon as you cross the threshold it opens up into a massive space, but the shadows are so thick and vast here that it is difficult to see where the walls truly begin or end. A pair of servant girls stand in the corner, just as rigid and silent as the others that you've seen so far, standing with their backs to the wall like they mean to merge into the shadows and hide. The only light to speak of pours from the ceiling, broadening in its descent to encapsulate the massive round pool that sits in the center of the room like a spotlight. And there, lounging along the far end of the bath with his arms draped along the border, relaxed in the murky, steaming water, is the na-Baron.

When your eyes meet you have to wonder if this is what prey feels like when locked within the gaze of a wolf; poised to lunge and jaws longing to bite. The way that he had gazed upon you in the arena had been appraising and seeking. Like he was sizing you up and searching for your favor all at once. But something in his stare has shifted since then and dipped into something searing and stifling, and it serves as an obtrusive reminder of who you've willingly confined yourself alone with. But you're unable to stop yourself from admiring him as he does to you. Roving your examination over his face, and you find your attention captivated there. The glow of the florescent lighting reveals a delicate cream undertone in his skin, and the light blush in his lips that had been hidden outside, stunted by the black sun. It breathes a sense of life into him, and nearly separates him from the otherworldly image that had been crafted by the violence he had basked in earlier.

"You must be lost."

The voice that speaks abruptly is husky and inflected with an accented lilt that blends into the rasp of it. It buzzes over your skin, and you can feel it murmur across your fingertips, but it is not enough to distract you from the confusion that sparks in you from the comment. He must notice the perplexed look that crosses your face because you don't even get time to ask him for clarification before he speaks next. "We're not to see each other. Or was that a lie?"

If you didn't know any better, you would have thought that he sounds insulted. Like the mere suggestion of you not meeting each other before the wedding had been a great offence. But surely it simply came from a place of ego and not genuine rejection or hurt. That would require affection. And that is an emotion that you're certain the na-Baron is incapable of. Still, regardless of if he truly harbors a sense of fondness for you are not, keeping this relationship as cordial as possible is in your best interest for both of your sakes.

"It wasn't a lie," you finally answer, clasping your hands together in front of yourself. "But I wanted to congratulate you on your win. . . And to finally see the man that I am intended to marry." The final admittance comes out somewhat reluctantly. But it catches his attention still. You can see the intrigue openly flit through his eyes and he tilts his head while he surveys your from across the room in a curious manner.

"And what do you think?"

You are not sure if the question is in reference to himself or his performance in the arena. Either way, your answer still stands. Though you find yourself reluctant to reveal it, even while it burns in your throat. But the way that the na-Baron watches you with a glimmer of restrained vehemence in his heavy stare almost rips the truth from the depths of your chest. But your eyes pointedly flicker back over to the servants in the corner before moving back over to the na-Baron. The question hangs heavy in the air, silently exchanged between the two of you.

"Leave us," he dismisses firmly, without removing his gaze from you. They nearly spring forward on their feet, vision casted down on the floor as they cross the room and vanish past the threshold like a pair of phantoms. You catch the subtle nod of his head as he watches you, and it is hard to tell if it is done with disinterest or an air of mocking. "There. You may speak freely now."

You don't hold in your answer now. "Disappointed," you say firmly, and you're thankful that your voice comes out stronger than you feel. A palpable shift rushes over the room. It is frigid. Moving over the blackened walls like a cold front and seeping into your bones; brought on by the subtle vexation that shifts across his features. You can see the muscles along his shoulders and the plains of his chest ripple underneath his pallid skin, tensing in his ire. It has you stuck in place like the bottoms of your feet have been glued to the floor. It doesn't feel like you're in a room with a man but sharing the space with a hunter that has its teeth and claws poised to slice. But you know that you can't cower. Not with men like him. If you give him and inch, he'll take a mile. And if you are going to make it out of this arrangement alive, you're going to have to try to stand on even ground. "That fight. It was supposed to be in my honor. But it isn't much of a victory if your opponents are impaired with drugs."

"It was out of my hands," comes his answer. It nearly could have been overtly defensive if he hadn't delivered it so steadily and direct. It's a knee jerk reaction to assume that he is lying. It has been instilled in you since birth to be wary of the Harkonnen and their words. And perhaps it is simply a dangerous form of hope, but the intuition in your gut promises you that he is telling the truth. But even then, it is difficult to find forgiveness.

"And you fought anyway."

"Careful." His voice cuts across the atmosphere like a sharp growl. He bares his teeth with the warning, letting you catch a glimpse of that dark snarl and for a moment your mind treacherously imagines what it would be like to feel the sharpness of it grazing along your skin. "I've taken tongues for less."

The threat does not strike fear in you like it should have. Like you expected it to. The longer you spend in Feyd-Rautha's presence, the more that your initial caution begins to ebb away. For better or for worse, confidence seeps in to take its place. You shock yourself for the second time today by moving towards him instead of backing away like someone with common sense would. Though if you're being honest with yourself, you have always flirted with danger. The temptation towards things that you should not want has always taken you to places not meant for you, and it is a trait that your family and teachers alike had struggled to dissuade. That you yourself have always fought. But you can't resist the urge to close the distance between you and him, following after it blindly like you're being tugged along by an invisible string.

He trails your approach with that calculated sort of interest, fully invested on your form as you carry yourself up the pair of steps. You continue to move even once you reach the final platform, but your feet do not stop moving. It is like some subconscious part of you is determined to cut as much distance between you and the na-Baron as possible. He doesn't tear his attention from you once. It's fully fixed to you as you saunter around the boarder of the bath like he couldn't bear to look away from you, and it fuels you to keep moving forward, only stopping once you stand beside him. He turns his head to gaze up at you from his position, studying you as he lounges.

"I'd save that for after the wedding, it may be difficult to say my vows otherwise." You level him with a firm stare as your tone shifts from subtly sardonic to hardened, and possibly even disappointed. " Though I'm glad to know where we stand."

You see something harden in his gaze. What, you are not sure, but the ferocity of it makes you breathless and something heated stirs in your gut.

"I mean you no ill will," he assures you, as if he had not just threatened you just a moment before. But the gravelly tone of his voice is distracting. It courses over your skin like an electrical current, humming and warm across your body. "I will bring you the heads of a thousand men if it pleases you."

It's not the admission itself that shocks you. You know that slaughter comes naturally to the na-Baron. You have witnessed that firsthand. But the sincerity and passion that cradled his words made it sound like a promise. A vow. And you know for certain that he is being purely honest. It floods you with disbelief. The way that he watches you is raw. Vulnerable but not weak or insecure. He said it with the zeal of a devout follower speaking of their faith. Full of hunger, reverence and sincerity. It makes your knees weaken and the oxygen in your lungs is suddenly useless. The devotion burning in the dark hold of his stare is something that you never imagined Feyd-Rutha could be capable of. You know that it is not love. That you are not naive enough to believe. But it is admiration. Consuming and wanting. It is almost frightening how he looks at you. Like you are an oasis, a banquet, and he is a man parched and starved. It only draws you to him even more. Like a moth fluttering closer to an open flame; hoping to be burned in its welcoming, vicious warmth.

"Why?" Your voice comes out weakened. You nearly pant, trying to breath around the fit of your bodice. It has suddenly become too tight, squeezing around your ribcage and sweltering against your skin.

He does not answer immediately. Instead he rises from the depths of the dark water, shifting to turn his body to yours, causing the water to ripple and gleam underneath the light. You can smell the perfume of the oil on his skin, fresh and warm like amber. A scandalous part of you is tempted to glance downward, even though you know that the height of the dusky liquid still hides the most intimate parts of him, but you are unable to tear your eyes away from his. They look like heavy black chasms, drawing you in and stealing your focus until he is all you can see. You can just vaguely register that he's stepping closer to you. He angles his head as he draws near, and you feel the point of his nose brush over yours through the chilled chains of your veil; the warmth of his body seeps past the barrier of your dress and sinks in deep, settling between the cradle of your hips.

"You and I; we belong together." He says it like it is a fact. A creed. To him it is. He beholds you like you are something worth worship. And the thought of having such a formidable man observing you as though you were an answer that he has been seeking makes something in you burn. It is scorching. Powerful. It knocks you breathless. "I dream of you."

The admittance makes you gasp. You briefly wonder how he could possibly have been touched by the sight of visions. Much less ones of you. How he had managed to see you in his sleep just as you had seen glimpses of him. But your marveling is quickly flooded and overruled by images of your own past dreams dancing and flashing in your mind. Pale hands sweeping across your body and leaving white-hot trails in their wake; the sting and glide of teeth and tongue; the musk and salt of sweat in your mouth. It rouses a heady sense of curiosity inside of you. And when he raises a hand and slips it underneath your veil to cup your cheek, sweeping his thumb over the shape of your lips, it makes your interest burn hotter. When you speak next your voice nearly catches in your throat. "What do you see? In your dreams."

The weight of his stare pulls you in and grips you tightly, heavy with a wild sort of hunger that might eat you alive. When he speaks next, the smoky rumble of his voice courses over you and clouds your head with a low mist. "Let me show you."

You are not sure when he had slipped the veil from over your face and off of your head, but you hear it fall behind you. Hitting the floor with a sharp, twinkling clatter. But you hardly pay it any mind. Too entranced on the heat of Feyd's palm cupping your face, holding you close while his heavy, heated stare bores into your own and in your haze, you admire that they are truly a shade of blue, just as those old visions promised. A gorgeous splash of color caught in a world of black and white. He shifts closer to you - as much as the low edge of the bath will allow, and with it you feel the sultry impression of his body heat glides over you. The cradle of his hand on your face slips from its place, traveling downward until it reaches your neck. Your heart skips a beat when the hold of his fingers reaches around your throat, and you're sure that he could feel the wild pulse of it fluttering against his palm. A flicker of amusement passes through his gaze, and suddenly it feels like some kind of test. He wants to see if you'll crack and flounder while he holds your life in his grip. But you find that the urge to flee has vanished. It's been wrung from you as though it had never been there, and suddenly you can't understand why you had ever wanted to run in the first place.

The pressure of his hand tightens like he means to squeeze the air out of you and to block your breath. Fear doesn't rise up to greet you. This isn't a challenge that you have the desire to shrink away from. You want more of it. Of him. You lean into his touch instead, tilting your chin back to bare your throat to him, and you see a ravenous type of delight pass over his expression when you do. The weight fixed around your neck; the heady scent of the rich ointment wafting from his skin dips more of that intoxicated haze over you.

For a moment you wonder if he might actually rip the oxygen from your lungs and attempt to send you to your death. The tight hold of his hand and the dark look glittering in his eyes imply that he might. But then his hold goes light, and you nearly mourn the loss when he allows his fingers to slip from around your neck. Disgracefully, you almost feel a low whine rising to the tip of your tongue. A desperate plead to have his touch on you again. But like an answer to your silent prayer, his hands unanimously run down your body, roving dangerously close to your breasts, leaving your skin tingling in their wake as they trail down and past your ribs to settle on your hips.

Time seems to slow when his fingers pluck at the smooth fabric of your skirt, bunching the material up into the cradle of his palms until it starts to slip up and over your legs, gradually revealing more and more of you. He doesn't stop until its rucked up enough to slip his hands underneath your dress, and you silently gasp at the warmth of his palms blossoming over your hips. His fingertips dig into your skin harshly enough that you know it'll be tender tomorrow, but you welcome the sting.

You can see the silent question glimmer in his eyes. The whisper of his nose gliding over your own and the nearness of his lips beckon that you come closer. He steps back just enough to allow you space, and without further prompting you lift your legs over the lip of the bath. The water is nearly scorching when you slink inside, nearly sweeping up to your waist and encapsulating you like melted wax. His grip on you didn't waver or weaken as you moved. If anything, it grew stronger, like he was worried you might slip away from him, even though the idea of escaping is a faint memory for you now.

When he tilts his head closer to yours, you think that he finally might kiss you and satiate the restless hunger that's been buzzing between the both of you. You feel the low brush of his breath against you lips when he speaks, and the throaty rasp of his voice curls out in one word:

"Beg."

It gives you pause. As soon as you hear it something defiant rises inside of you. But it isn't aggressive or wildly so. It's languid and playful. Testing. Despite the shred of desperation that you had nearly caved into earlier, you have no desire to give in so easily now. You aren't going to roll over so quickly. Not without good reason.

"No," you answer calmy, resisting, even when lust burns in your veins. "Give me a reason to."

In truth, you aren't sure where the burst of confidence comes from. Your experience with things of this nature - the touch of a man and pleasure, isn't nonexistent. You've indulged in a few nights tangled in the arms of a random temporary lover. Secretive kisses exchanged in dimly lit corridors, the ecstasy of a mouth between your thighs. But the art of it is not something that you have fully grasped onto. Flirtation and conviction in regard to sex doesn't come naturally to you. So you aren't sure why you feel inclined to tease him like you know what you're doing. But you want the challenge. Some twisted, perverted side of you wants to see the glint of the psychotic excitement that he had displayed in the arena. You want his hands on you while his eyes burn with that unrestrained ferocity. It's dangerous to goad him on. To taunt him like you understand him. You're playing a dangerous game. Like prodding at a wild animal in its enclosure, or waving a blazing, red flag in front of a pacing bull.

A fearful part of you expects for him to get angry. That he might lash out and punish you assuming that you could toy with him so freely. Maybe he'll remind you of your intended place and tell you that you aren't equals. That you mean nothing to him. But he doesn't do any of those things. Instead, he sinks down to his knees, lowering himself until the water rises up to his chest. His eyes don't stray from you once, and the hold on your hips remains firm. The intent and hunger in his eyes nearly make you lightheaded. He watches you in a way that's starved. It has you wondering if you're going to make it out of this alive. But a stronger part of you can't wait to be torn apart.

His hold on your hips gently nudges at you, guiding you to lower yourself until you're seated on the edge of the bath. You spread your legs without him having to ask, and you can see the hint of an arrogant smile perking at the corners of his mouth when one of his hands sweep down to your knee, prying it open. Anticipation simmers inside of you, searing deep inside of your gut like a hot ember. You feel his fingers sweep along your undergarment, hooking his fingers underneath the fabric to tear the delicate scrap of clothing from your hips as though it was made from paper. It stings against your skin when it snaps free, breaking with a sharp hiss as it rips apart.

You watch in awe when he lifts the frayed fabric up to his nose to draw in a heavy inhale. Embarrassment prickles at your face when you realize that he's breathing in the arousal that had soaked your underwear. It's vulgar. Filthy. But it has excitement buzzing over you and seeping into your bones. You hardly pay attention when he tosses the tattered fabric somewhere across the room, too transfixed as he leans himself forward between your knees, making a space for himself around the cradle of your thighs, hovering dangerously close to where you need him the most.

His stare pierces yours, digging a place for himself in your mind and soul, and latching on as he delivers a promise. "I'll make you scream."

Coming from anyone else it would have made you scoff or roll your eyes and cringe. Despite your inexperience, it's a line that you've heard before only to be met with utter disappointment. But you can feel the determination rolling from him, and you know that it isn't a lie. Still, you're prepared to say something snarky. To try and knock him down a peg or two before he's even started, but you never get the chance.

His head is between your thighs in an instant, spreading you open with his tongue, hot and sweltering against you. It wrenches a startled cry from your chest, and your hands scramble blindly to support yourself, clinging onto the chilled edge of the bath and the damp warmth of Feyd's shoulder so that you don't tip over. He's only just started, and his enthusiasm already leaves you suspended in disbelief. He works his mouth against you with a ravenous intensity, swiping his tongue over you before dipping it deep inside of you in a way that has liquid pleasure pouring over your body; making your nerves light up like wild, hot sparks. Your hips lift up in a mindless roll, grinding over his mouth to chase after the curl of his tongue, and he follows after the sway of your body, unshaken by your desperation.

Already you feel like you've been lit on fire. Dipped in a pool of nectar and bliss. It has your legs quivering, tensing and flexing with every suck and stoke from his mouth. It pulls ragged gasps from your heaving lungs, and you just faintly register the airy, punched out breaths lightly echoing off of the walls of the room. You can hear the wet drag of his lips and tongue licking at your cunt, tipping you closer and closer to euphoria. It's filthy. Utterly debauched. The very notion of the daughter of a Duke sleeping with a man before her wedding - fiancé or not - is scandalous, and you should be entirely ashamed that you've even wound up in this position at all. But you can't manage to find a single ounce of humiliation in your body. You're in too deep now. Nothing else matters but this moment. Nothing except for him.

Your head rolls down on your neck, and you're immediately insnared by the sight of him watching you. Most of his face is hidden by the skirt of your dress bunched around your waist, how your thighs frame his head, but you can see his eyes clearly. A haughty sense of excitement dances in them, clearly pleased with the mess that he's already made of you. You want nothing more than to wipe that arrogant look from his face, but it's almost like he can sense the quip that you're prepared to use, because the wet heat of his mouth licks over you before he closes his lips around your clit and your mind glazes over. He drags the hint of teeth over you, lighting up fire in their wake and then he sucks. Your back bows tight, breasts heaving underneath your dress, and you openly sob. But he offers you no reprieve, no chance to breathe.

With little warning he slips a finger into the wet entrance of your cunt, forcing your walls to stretch around the width of it as he curls it deep. You've touched yourself before. Used you own fingers to pleasure yourself, and you've only ever felt the hand of one other man before. A random soldier amongst the Atreides ranks, but that had been some time ago. The width of Feyd's is much bigger than your own. Thick and long enough that a single one has you gasping. The stretch of it nearly burns. But it builds a heavy ache between the apex of your thighs, rooting itself so deeply along your spine that it tears another watery cry from you. The motion of your hips turns choppy, losing your rhythm in your desperation to reach the scorching pleasure that looms over you like a wall of fire. He barely gives you time to adjust to the first finger before he's inserting another in alongside it, making the muscles of your abdomen contract and wildly. The walls of your cunt flutter around the thickness of his fingers; your body desperate to fall into the throes of release.

The fullness of it makes your mouth drop open in a silent scream, forcefully teetering you along the edge of something all-consuming and debilitating. You can taste it searing on your tongue, feel it on your fingertips and all the way down to your toes. Uninhibited moans and broken mewls of his name have begun to spill from your mouth. Punched out of you by the ceaseless drag of his tongue and weight of his finger inside of you, crooking along your walls with nasty, wet squelches to shove you closer and closer to that shattering precipice. It forces out a gutted cry that nearly stings on its way out, and you can feel Feyd's pleased laughter reverberate over your flesh in response, and the low tremors only inject more rapture into your veins. It's so close. Welling and foaming up like boiling water; a rising tide that threatens to sweep you and drown you.

All at once it stops.

You cry out like you've been wounded when he tears his mouth from you and removes his fingers from your cunt, leaving you empty and aching. You don't even try to hide your betrayed scowl as you glare down at his face, which looks entirely too delighted for your liking. Your lungs struggle around a ragged gasp, making your voice catch in your throat. "Wha- why you did sto-"

The question hardly has time to leave you before he turns his head and sinks his teeth into the plush skin of your inner thigh. It sears across your nerves, molten and white-hot, ripping a pained yelp from your chest. The smile on his face is pleased, stretched wide into that dark, impish grin. Your attention is stuck on him as he drops his jaw open, holding your scolding glower as he slips his tongue out to glide it along the sore bite mark that he left with his teeth. The wet warmth of his tongue laving over your skin, soothing the sting that he had made has your brain splitting between pain and pleasure, merging the two sensations into a muddled, delicious blur.

"Feyd." You meant for it to come out reprimanding and harsh, but instead it sounds thin and panting. You see the satisfaction spark in his eyes at the weakened tone of it, and seeking more out like a glutton, he reaches his hand forward to roll one of his knuckles over your clit. It's pure torture how he's keeping you hung along the edge of bliss. You're still sensitive from your ruined orgasm and the simple graze from the back of his hand has you doubling over like you've been struck in the gut. He tilts his head back to nuzzle his face against your own when you lean in close enough. An action that's deceptively sweet for someone so violent. It has something that feels a lot like affection bubbling up inside of your chest; dulcet and soft. You tear it away and burrow it deep before it can grow.

Guided by instinct, in a scramble to replace that unwelcome hint of tenderness, you tilt your head to join your lips to his. You can taste yourself on him, earthy and mildly sweet, and just the thought of you marking him with something so intimate - so filthy, makes you weak. He's quick to respond, meeting you eagerly with tongue and teeth. It's nearly bruising. Just as harsh and impassioned as the way that he fights, and it has you moaning into his mouth. But it isn't enough. Your hands turn greedy, sweeping over his shoulders and up the back of his neck, and in retaliation for teasing and his earlier bite, you sink your nails into the skin there, meanly dragging them until your reach his clavicle bone. But he doesn't hiss or wince in pain. The groan that spills against your lips is one of pleasure. The sound has your body thrumming and winding up tight, and paired with the steady circles he draws on your clit it has you dangerously close to tipping headfirst into the throes of melted bliss. But his touch is too light, the rhythm too slow to fully guide you into it. It leaves stuck on the edge of a torturous limbo, and you nearly whimper against his mouth.

You break the kiss in an effort to regain a sense of clarity, but he's quick to chase after you, nipping at your lips and alleviating the sting with the point of his tongue. "Feyd," you repeat, and this time it sounds horribly close to begging. You can feel your resolve cracking. Splintering down the center and melting with every glide of his finger against your clit.

"I already told you, Atreides," he murmurs it like a taunt and promise all at once. "All you need is ask."

He makes it sound so simple. So temptingly easy, but you try to cling onto your pride with a shaking grip. You know that he can see the conflict openly reflected in your eyes. The urge to fight. He moves his face from yours just enough to tilt his head as he evaluates you. It feels so condescending and the low, patronizing way that he tuts at you has a small whisper of determination peeking through the cloud of lust that fogs your mind. But he presses his knuckle against your clit in a mean drag, making your body clench and twitch like it had been stung with a live wire, and with it all cohesive thought blanks out.

"Why are you fighting?" He asks, leaning his head to run his teeth along your ear, and then the wet blaze of his tongue trails up your throat to lick the salt from your skin. "It could be like a dream."

It's such a simple sentence, but it reminds you have of how you've gotten here in the first place. The promise of pleasure, the feel of skin under your teeth, the rough grip of his hands on you. In truth, you aren't sure what you're resisting for. What game you're trying to play and win. You're just torturing yourself at this point. Holding yourself back from what you truly want needlessly. It's because of pride. The trait to endure, to remain resolute underneath the call of a challenge or opposition has been instilled in you. You've been taught to be unyielding, to hold yourself back from temptation. Especially when facing an adversary. You cannot show weakness lest you bring humiliation to your house. But you're quickly learning that you don't have much shame anymore. Being in Feyd's presence seems to drain every ounce of it from your body, shifting you into something debased and wanting. And you want him.

"Please, Feyd, I need you touch me," you beg, panting against his lips. "I need you to fuck me. I need - "

You aren't certain who moves first. If it's you who slips down from the edge of the bath or if he's the one that takes ahold of you by the hips and tugs you onto his lap. The murky water splashes and ripples from the disturbance, bathing over the lower half of your body in a warm rush as you meet in a desperate sweep of grabbing hands, and the passionate exchange of lips and the harsh graze of teeth. You follow after him as he shifts so he's leaning against the boarder of the bath, allowing you both to focus on the press of your bodies grinding against each other without the worry of falling into the water. His hips roll upward, tearing a surprised gasp from you when you feel the hard weight of his cock nudge between the apex of your thighs, brushing over your clit in a slow drag.

The feel of it is jarring almost. Dousing a small chill across your body with the reminder that you're beginning to reach the point of uncharted territory. You've never gotten this close with anyone else before. Had never entertained the idea or even desired it. Your explorations of the male body had never gone past you taking them into your mouth or vice versa. This is completely out of your depth and all of the efforts that you had taken in preparation had done little to soothe your nerves. You had spoken to your chambermaids and Lady Jessica alike about sex before, the art of love making and what you should brace for, and they had all warned you of pain. A deep tearing pain and the blood that comes with it. It had given you hardly any inclination to anticipate losing your virtue.

But even with worry tensing your gut the fervent, burning desire that's consumed you hasn't released you from its snare. Still, Feyd seems to have noticed the rigidity in your body, the way your muscles have coiled in your internal distress. He tips his head back to part his lips from yours so that your eyes can meet, and you can see amusement glittering in the darkness of them like your nervousness is humorous somehow.

"You have nothing to fear. I'll be gentle, just this once." The reassurance (or threat, you aren't quite sure) skirts over you, rough and enticing within the gravel of his voice. One of the hands that he has on your hips softly grips around your wrist, and you're left to watch curiously as he guides it down into the inky water. You gasp when he slips your palm around the weight of his cock. He's rigid and smooth in your hold, and when you inquisitively stroke your hand up the length of him, it's a little intimidating to discover the substantial girth of him. You swallow nervously around the saliva that pools in your throat. It's difficult to focus around. It's like your own body is confused, thrumming with an electrical sort of anticipation, and the clutch of anxiety that stubbornly burrows deep underneath the influence of your lust.

But there's something about the arrogant glint in Feyd's expression that makes you bristle. It gives you a touch of confidence; small, hardly there at all, but it's enough. You grip him before your determination can falter, holding him steady as you line him up to the soaked entrance of your cunt. It takes you a moment to notch him against you - a combination of your nerves and lack of practice. But when you finally do, you have to draw in a deep breath to center yourself. He's thick and warm against you and it's such a foreign sensation. A side of you still hasn't caught up with the fact that you're well and truly here, tangled up in such a scandalous position with the na-Baron - your enemy. Your rival. But it's even more shocking with how little the fact is beginning to bother you. It should frighten you. It should sicken and repulse you. But you find that it doesn't in the slightest. You only feel the damning lick of desire, the urge to chase after your pleasure and to feel the na-Baron come undone underneath you.

With a deep inhale you begin to sink yourself down on him before your nerves can get ahold of you. The stretch stings from the head of his cock working inside, the muscles between the junction of your hips straining from the effort. It's already intense, splitting you open with a fullness that you have yet to feel before even though he isn't even halfway in. Every shred of oxygen has been punched out from your lungs, and your mouth drops open in a silent gasp as you continue to slip yourself down onto him, forcing your body to accommodate to the width of his girth. Liquid, molten honey drips down the length of your spine, blurring with the raw sting rooted deep inside of you, nearly making you double over from the intensity of it.

"Easy," Feyd hums suddenly, reaching up to cup the side of your face. When he swipes his thumb underneath your eye, you just vaguely register the dampness there. Tears. You hadn't even realized that you had begun to cry from the overwhelming nature of it all, and even though it's expected, it's a little irritating to see how unbothered he appears to be while you feel as though you're coming undone at the seams. But the warmth of his hand against your cheek pulls you from the searing, electrical pressure of your muscles giving around his length, a beacon in a storm. It's another oddly, sweet gesture from the someone so brutal, and combined with the soothing weight of his hand on your waist, it has another bout of that horrendous affection rising up inside of you. Even when he lifts his tearstained thumb to his lips to lick the damp salt from his finger.

It's all too overwhelming. The sensation of his body on yours, his eyes on you, the push of his cock filling you up. It has more desire building up inside of you and it guides you to sink even more of yourself down on him, eager to take every inch. You feel it when the crown pushes past the tight ring of your cunt. The abrupt pop sends heavy tremors across your body, making your spine bow forward like a melted candlestick. It's like every bit of your energy has been sapped from you by a single motion and you have no choice but to let your head prop against his shoulder as you collect yourself with a trembling sigh. But you don't bother giving yourself any reprieve, discarding his earlier advice and bearing your hips down to force more of him deep inside, and your jaws drops open in a silent, punchout scream when your walls stretch to accommodate him.

Your mind has all but melted underneath the intensity of it, shifting to a blank with each inch that you take. By the time that the back of your thighs meets the support of his lap you feel like pure, useless mush. Reduced to pliant mess by the sudden fullness that's been stuffed into your cunt. You swear that you can feel him in your throat, shoving your lungs tight against the walls of your ribcage, keeping you breathless.

"I told you to go easy." The rumble of his voice breaks out, bleeding past the clouded over haze in your mind in a deep rasp. It's difficult to discern if he's mocking you or chiding you, but knowing what you've learned of him already, it's safe to assume that it's probably both.

You distantly feel you shake your head against his shoulder, more of that defiance rearing up. "I don't want to go easy," you counter. It takes you a moment to build up the strength and coherence to pull yourself back, tilting your chin up to assess him. His eyes are like burning pits, a yawning void that wants to eat you alive. But you don't have it in yourself to shy away from it. Instead you lean forward, slipping your hands around to grip the back of his neck, supporting yourself has you brush your nose along his. The press of his body underneath you is unflinching, his expression relaxed, but you are certain that you feel something in him waver. The hint of a vulnerability. A fleeting glimpse of it. But that's all you need. It's more than enough to tell you that if you want to, you can just as easily have him wrapped around your finger.

You angle your head closer, pressing soft kisses along the plush of his lips and the sharp cut of his jaw. "Please," you beg softly.

His mouth is on yours in an instant, hot and hungry, pulling you into another frenzied kiss, licking into your mouth to taste you. Just the glide of his lips against yours is enough to have that heated coil in your stomach already winding up tight. You feel like you're drowning. Caught up in a torrent of heat and bliss. It has your hips rising up mindlessly, instinctively working yourself on the length of his cock in a desperate need to chase after your pleasure. Stinging aftershocks trickle across your muscles with each short drag, but it only serves to make your nerves hum; aching so wonderfully deep that your eyes nearly roll back.

His lips leave yours to trail along to corners of your mouth, sweeping down your jaw to nip and bite along the delicate skin of your throat, intent to leave his mark on you. It distracts you. Pulling your focus onto the sharp cut of his teeth on your neck, that it completely catches you off guard when he secures an arm around your waist, pinning you close to his body before he thrusts his hips up into yours like he's determined to carve his place between your them. The pace that he sets is grueling. A merciless rhythm that strikes the air out of your lungs with each pronounced roll. He fills you in a way that hurts, stretching you open with every plunge of his cock. But it's an exquisite type of pain. It feels like it's tearing you apart just to piece you back together again.

You struggle to meet his pace. Your movements aren't as coordinated; choppy, and he doesn't wait for you to catch up and figure out the greedy movement and rhythm he's set. The sway of the water around your bodies seem to stifle and aid the motion of your hips simultaneously, dragging them down and lifting them all at once. You're practically useless above him, forced to sit and take it. But he doesn't seem annoyed or undeterred in the slightest with the way that he pounds himself into you. It has your brain going fuzzy, glazing over with the impression of his veins gliding along the walls of your cunt. His chest rubs against your breasts, shifting the smooth material of your dress over your nipples, and the added friction makes your back pull taut.

The heat of his mouth closes over the vulnerable stretch of your throat and you can feel the tip of his tongue glide over your pulse like he's tempted to sink his teeth in deep to drink the flow of your blood. Your cunt clenches down on his girth at the thought, and you're rewarded with a low, guttural groan that reverberates across his chest from the inside out. It makes you eager to hear more from him. To make him just as broken and debauched as you are.

You can hardly recognize yourself anymore. The way that he's practically turned you into an animal; wanton and gluttonous. You can hear the sound of your own voice, unrestrained and loud as it cries out in pleasured moans and whimpers. You don't think you've ever heard yourself this way. So uninhibited and sinful. None of your past lovers, as satisfactory as they had been, had ever been able to pull reactions like this from you. It nearly makes you feel like a stranger in your own body. Unfamiliar with your skin. But it's irresistibly good, unprincipled and shameless. But it feels like pure release, untethered by expectations or rules. And like a starved thing, you want more. You want more of him. To hear him, to feel more of him, to taste him on your tongue.

In a wild craving to hear the throaty sound of his pleasured breaths, you slip your throat away from his mouth, ignoring the disgruntled snarl that stretches across his lips to grip the nape of his neck. You lean forward before he can question you and press your teeth into the smooth flesh that stretches over the junction of his shoulder, careful not to break skin but enough to cause the sting of pain. It's like a prize when a deep groan rips out from his chest, but the sharp, bruising thrust that follows closely behind nearly dislodges your teeth from him. He must have noticed the grip of your jaw waver because he slips a hand up to cradle the back of your skull, securing you in place.

"More," he demands in a thick rasp.

The sound of the request has liquid fire dousing over you, and you don't have the strength or desire to resist. You sink your teeth down even more until it threatens to split skin underneath the weight of your bite, stopping short before you could do any actual damage. But the irritated, almost forlorn sigh that greets your ears catches your attention. His fingers flex around the back of your head like he wants to shove you closer. But surely he doesn't want that. Your teeth will tear right through him if you apply any more pressure.

"Harder." The insistent order comes out like pure gravel, and matched with another wild thrust, it has your teeth clamping down on his shoulder. The muscles in your jaw squeeze tight until flesh breaks and something iron and strangely bitter spills across your tongue and threatens to pour down your throat. The noise that leaves him is gutted and wanton. Your body clenches around him as soon as you hear the ragged panting that trickles from his lips, setting you alight with even more ardency, and the sting of your bite searing across his nerves somehow manages to fuel him with even more vigor. He rams his cock into you with heavy strokes that are debilitating. You nearly feel like a doll, nothing more than a being for his pleasure, if not for the reverent way that his hands begin to glide along your body. Clutching you to him like might slip away.

It pulls you close to him, and the position has his pelvis grinding against your clit with every roll of his hips. Unable to hold in the string of moans and whimpers that beg to slip from your chest, you have to slip your teeth from his skin to pant and cry against his shoulder. It's like the sun is eating at your body. Warmth, and heat, and rapture scorching you from the inside, threatening to burn and tear you apart. You can taste it, warm and sweet on the tip of your tongue, mixing with the dark tart of his blood into an intoxicating flavor. It makes you lose all sense of yourself with your mind slipping under a blank mist. Your body is so distant from you now and the only thing that keeps you connected to it is the pleasure and ecstasy soaking your limbs and filling your lungs; the thickness of him stretching you open and stuffing you full.

"Feyd," you gasp like a warning and a plea, blindly clawing at his arms and shoulders to keep you tethered down and present. But each relentless thrust just hurtles you closer to that yawning precipice. The head of his cock brushes against something deep and devastating inside of you and that's all it takes for you to split apart with a ragged scream. You hardly have time to brace for it when it finally reaches you. Bursts of white and piercing stars explode behind your eyes like a kaleidoscope; fire and electricity seize you tight, forcing every muscle in your body to wind up tight like you've been shocked. All of the air has been snatched from your lungs making your feel as though you've blacked out; lightheaded and sluggish.

You can hear Feyd grunting in your ear, but his pacing has turned messy, losing the pronounced, steady rhythm he once had in his desperation to reach his own end. Thrusting into you in a manner that's almost wild. Both of his hands find your waist and his fingertips dig in deep enough to tear a weak cry from you. With a long, guttural moan he reaches his climax, burying himself deep into your cunt as he fills you with a flood of pulsing warmth before sagging back against the boarder of the tub.

You aren't sure how long you stay like that for, suspended in a space tucked between your body and thrumming, pulsing heat. When your breath comes back to you, it's labored and deep, drawing in the scent of perfumed oils and the heady salt of sweat. You've gone limp, limbs lax and useless as your full weight drapes across the firm press of Feyd's body underneath you. It's soothing to have him close, even though it shouldn't be. There should be fear in your chest. Self-disgust and betrayal should hang over you like a cloud, but there's nothing except for satisfaction and peace. Maybe it will leave you once the influence of pheromones and the high of sex dissipate, and reality will come hurtling down on you with the conviction of a calamity. But as of now, you have no desire to entertain any of those anxieties. You nuzzle closer to Feyd, tucking your face into the crook of his neck with the ease of someone who's done it a thousand times, even while a faint part of you worries that he'll shove you away. That he might push you from him and rise from the bath to leave you abandoned in water turned tepid and soiled to remind you of your true place here. But he doesn't. He lets you settle over him, idly running his fingertips up the divot of your spine from over the cover of your soaked dress.

You feel the thrum voice of his vibrate across his chest before you hear it, and a part of you expects some sort of scathing remark.

"Did I still disappoint?"

Your eyebrows furrow at the question as your slow-moving brain struggles to follow the question, and the near flat quality of his voice doesn't assist you any. But when your finally grasp onto the realization, you can't fight off a light smile that perks at your lips from the notion that he might be teasing you. The affection is back with a vengeance. Blossoming in your chest, saccharine and warm. But now you don't have the strength to try and shove it away or to distract yourself.

"Hmmm," you hum lowly, feigning consideration as you draw in a deep sigh. "I suppose you've redeemed yourself."

The scent of something strongly metallic fills your nose, settling deep and pulling you from the gentle fuzz that's stuffed your skull. It draws you to pull yourself from the cradle of his chest to evaluate him. Your eyes are quick to scan his pallid skin and you immediately notice the rivulets of black that pour down his shoulder, streaming from the angry bitemark that has been cut into his flesh. Guilt spreads through you at the sight even though he had commanded - begged, really, for you to do it. You're sure that his blood is still smeared across your lips in a dark stain. More proof of the pain you had eagerly inflicted on him.

"I'm sorry," you apologize softly. You reach down to cup some of the murky water into the divot of your palm, it has healing properties you remember reading, and lift it up to gently pour it over the wound. Even though it must sting, he doesn't so much as flinch underneath the feel of the medicinal liquid flowing over the gash.

"Don't be," he assures. He glides the pad of one of his thumbs across your bottom lip, and you distantly gather that he's collecting the glaze of his blood there. His eyes follow the motion like he's entranced, and the intensity behind it could have sparked another bout of lust in you if you weren't already so spent. He lifts his black-stained fingers between you both, rubbing his fingertips together as he watches the smear of blood glitter underneath the cast of the pale lighting. "I'll wear it with pride."

There it is again. More of that odd, unwavering devotion. Perhaps you should be suspicious of it. It could be some sort of ploy to lull you into a false sense of security, but instinct tells you that he's being purely honest. And that might be even more frightening. If he's already so committed and consumed by lust and entitlement now, then there's truly no idea what could happen if his admiration were to evolve into something deeper. Darker. Less restrained. Horrendously, the prospect of it intrigues you. You can't help but wonder what it would be like to bask under the attention of Feyd-Rautha's obsession. An even sicker side of you might hope for it too.

You snap that thought shut and bury it deep before it can flourish. You concentrate your mind on your surroundings instead, like the dark water lapping along the edge of the bath, soaking the expensive fabrics of your dress, now damaged and defiled, and the musk of sex and fragrant oils hanging heavy in the air; the press of his flaccid cock still stuffed inside of you. But the weight of Feyd's stare cuts through all of it, gravitating your own to raise to him in turn. You can see the pale hint of blue reflecting in them, just as gorgeous as the expanse of a wild ocean. It draws you closer to him and he angles his head to join his lips to yours. For the first time this night this kiss is something soft and gentle. It feels like reverence when the plush of his mouth parts against yours. Drawing in the taste of you on the tip of his tongue, exchanging a mix or your arousal and his blood with the glide of your lips. It's a kiss that pulls you down into his orbit. It makes everything fade it an unclear background until the only thing that matters is the warmth of him underneath your hands; the pulse of his heartbeat thrumming steadily within his chest. With another delicate nip of his teeth and the sweep of his hands around you, temptation rings throughout your bones and begs you to fall into him.

And without any resistance, you do.

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

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prettyfastcars · 3 months

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Owned | Mob!Lando - part 2

Read part 1 here

Summary: Lando finally gets what he wants. Sure he had to use crooked ways to get it, but all’s fair when one is in love, isn’t it?

Themes: dark!mob!lando, breeding kink, smut, fluff, explicit language

“Did you do it?”

You asked as you were both in bed in your apartment, your head resting on his chest while his hand gently caressed your back. Your fingers mindlessly toyed with the chain around his neck.

Lando had been here with you every single night ever since you’d learned about your ex boyfriend’s tragic accident which happened on the same night you decided to break things off with him.

That night, you two had an argument and it was messy. After that he stepped out for a walk, then unfortunately got hit badly. The days following the accident were rough. You called Lando the morning after, crying as you told him what happened. He told you not to worry and that he was coming to take care of everything.

The moment he got there at your doorstep, everything passed by in a blur. You barely even remember the funeral, the headstone at the cemetery, mourning with your ex’s family. All you remember is Lando was right there.

And now that all of that was over, now that you had taken time to work through your emotions and feelings, and now that you had a taste of normality again, you couldn’t help but ask that question.

Lando sighed, “What makes you say that, baby?”

He had taken every precaution. His guys had even made sure there were no cameras around where the ‘accident’ happened.

“Just wondering,” You murmured. You went to get up, to pull away from him and get out of bed but Lando stopped you by rolling on top of you before you did. The heat of his body, the feeling of his warm skin against yours, suddenly you didn’t want to get out of this bed. Ever.

“You think I would lie to you about something like this? You think I would put you through all this on purpose?” His pretty eyes looked down at you. His soft lips, his messy hair, that chain hanging from his neck slightly brushing against your chest as he hovered above you. “Hmm?”

Of course, Lando knew he could never tell you the truth. It was better this way. He hated lying to you, but this was for your own good. He saw the way guilt immediately filled your eyes at the sound of his question.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, reaching out to touch his face. “I think I need some more time to process everything.”

As much as he hated the thought of you being engrossed in the thoughts of another man, he nodded, agreeing.

He leaned in to kiss the corner of your mouth softly, “The kids miss you.”

You gave him a slight smile then. “I miss them too.” He had told you that he had hired a temporary nanny for them, until you were ready to come back to work. He also said how they didn’t really like the new nanny and asked about your whereabouts each morning and night. “I’ll be back soon.” You promised.

He moved his mouth on top of yours and kissed you passionately, biting your lip before shoving his tongue past your lips and kissing you like he’s famished.

He’d been doing that a lot lately. Whenever he found you too deep in your thoughts, he’d find a way to distract you and make you forget for a while. Most of the time, you both ended up in bed.

Like right now.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as you kissed him back. You moaned and whimpered, your bare body squirming under his. Lando's mouth left your lips as he kissed his way down your body, pulling the covers away in the process until he settled in between your legs. His handsome face just inches away from your dripping core.

“I miss having you in my home, you know that?” He whispered before he leaned in and kissed your wet folds, his tongue slowly circling around your throbbing clit and licking down, parting your wet folds with ease. “I miss seeing your face when I get home from work.”

Your body felt hotter and lighter as a pressing need to release formed deep inside you as you felt his tongue stroked your most sensitive parts. He looked up at you and found you with your eyes shut, head thrown back in pleasure.

“Look at me.” He ordered and the authority in his voice made you tremble.

You opened your eyes and supported your upper body up, your elbows digging into the mattress. You watched how his strong arms wrapped around your thighs, keeping you in place and close to him. He maintained eye contact as he licked in between your wet folds again, making you whine as he teased you. His touch was deliberately slow, and pleasurably agonising.

“Come home with me.” He whispered before he teased your entrance with the tip of his tongue. His hands wrapped around your thighs, securing you in his grip as he pushed his face further into you, making you cry out loud until you came undone, thighs shaking as he kissed his way up your body again, hovering over you.

“I will,” You answered. “Soon.”

“How soon?” He leaned in to kiss you on the lips.

“Maybe in a couple of days.”

“You’re torturing me.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, “Am I?”

“Yes,” He insisted. “I miss you.” He repeated. “When you come back to me, I’m never letting you leave my bed.”

You giggled again, running your fingers through his soft hair as he leaned in to kiss you again. His hand slipped in between your legs with ease, caressing your inner thighs again. You couldn’t help but moan into the kiss given how sensitive you were.

You squirmed under him, and Lando smirked through the kiss as he slid his cock easily into you, pulling your legs up to wrap them around his waist. You moaned out loud again as he filled you up entirely.

He grabbed both your hands, laced your fingers together with his and pinned your interlaced hands down above your head, whispering as he fucked you slowly, “Gonna put a baby in you.” He gasped, “Then you’ll be mine forever.” He stared into your eyes, lips parted as he fucked you gently.

His lips found yours again, swallowing your moans while he rolled his hips against yours. He pulled out and pushed himself back into you, and watched in awe how you squirmed under him.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He mumbled breathlessly as he pushed deeper into you. “You’d be safe with me, just us and the kids. Huh, baby?”

“Yes…” You whined.

He bit your lips, kissed your open mouth, and shoved his tongue past your lips while he pounded into you. Your legs trembled around his waist, he thrust deeper into you fucking you like there’s no tomorrow.

“I can see it already,” He whispered, “You, walking around with a baby bump, in your little dresses,” He pressed the palm of his hand against your lower abdomen while he kept pounding into you incessantly. “I can’t wait to spoil you rotten, baby. I’ll worship your body even more than I do now, I’ll buy you anything you wanted, fuck I’ll do anything for you.”

“Oh… Lando, please,” You whimpered.

You tightened around him as you felt him quicken his pace, pounding into you. You felt the pressure in between your hips grow until you couldn’t hold back anymore.

His hand toyed with your clit, making you tremble. “Come for me.” He murmured, his voice now deeper. “Take all that cum, it’s all yours, baby. All yours.”

With a few more strokes of his thick cock, you felt his thrust becoming irregular, and felt his cock throb against your walls.

You couldn’t hold back anymore, and came with a loud moan.

Lando came right after you. He didn’t pull out, but remained buried inside you. Both of you catching your breaths and hearts racing in sync. You were a whimpering mess as he collapsed on top of you.

“I fucking love you.” He whispered, breathless.

Lando left in the early hours of the morning. He hated leaving you, but his kids would need him. He left after giving you a soft kiss on the forehead. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” He murmured against your skin.

On his way home, Lando got his phone out and immediately pulled up the camera footage. These past days, you’d been sleepier than usual so he had ample time to bring his guys in and have them install even more discreet cameras all over your home.

He didn’t see it as invading your privacy. But he had to make sure you were alright at all times, right?

So he watched you as you slept. Warm and safe under your blankets. “Everything’s gonna be okay, baby.” He whispered as he watched you shift around until you found a more comfy position. “I’ll take care of you.”

—

He couldn’t have been happier the day you decided to come back to work. Neither could he keep his hands off of you the moment the kids were napping during the day or sleeping at night.

“You’re moving in with me,” He growled into your ear one night, as he fucked you from behind while you were bent over his desk again. He grabbed you by the hips, pulling your body into him each time he thrust into you. “I don’t want you living in that apartment anymore. You hear me?”

You whined, barely able to hold on to the desk as he pounded into you. “I can’t…” You gasped, “I can’t just move in, I–,”

“Why?” He barked, “Why can’t you?” He leaned over you, his damp, warm chest pressing against your back. “Hmm?”

You turned your head to the side, gasping in pleasure as you tried to form a coherent sentence. “I can’t just… ” You desperately tried to get the right words out. “Maybe later, in a year or two if we’re still–,”

“Years?” He growled, fucking you harder. Your body crashed against the desk with each of his thrust, and you moaned at how his cock reached all the right places. “And if we’re still what?”

You whimpered when he bit down on your shoulder before pounding into you harder than before. “Together." You answered. "What if–,”

Lando pulled out, pulled you up from the desk and twisted you around so you faced him. He did it so quickly you barely processed any of it. One moment you were bent over his desk and the next you were facing him with his hand wrapped around your throat.

Your heart skipped a beat as you looked into his eyes. You secretly loved this side of him. Unpredictable. Wild. Dark.

“What did you just say to me?” He whispered, his voice surprisingly deeper than you’d ever heard. It made you shiver. “You think there’s even a slight possibility that you won’t end up being mine forever?” He leaned in just enough so his mouth brushed against yours. “You think this is a joke, baby? You think I’m just messing around with you?”

You trembled as he sat you down on the edge of the desk and slid his cock inside you again. The room was dark, the only light came from the dim scones on the wall and the moonlight coming in from the wide windows. Lando looked angry.

He tightened his grip around your throat just enough to make you whimper again as he resumed fucking you. “You’re mine.” He hissed. “There is no if,” He kept fucking into you even as you came, moaning and whimpering as you clenched around his cock, “You will be mine forever.”

You were too far gone, high on the orgasm he’d just given you that you didn’t hear the dark promise dripping from his words as he came inside you.

—

A couple of days later, one night as you put the kids to sleep, you received a phone call from a panicked neighbour of yours. What she said over the phone made you rush to Lando, trying to keep yourself from freaking out.

You found him in his bedroom and you couldn’t help the tears then.

“What’s going on, baby?” He wrapped his arms around you and held you until you were able to speak again. "What happened?"

“My neighbour called and… they’re being evacuated because–,” You took a deep breath, “My building is on fire, it’s… it’s pretty bad.” You sobbed, hugging him tightly. “My apartment, it’s all gone.”

“Hey, hey,” He cupped your face in his large hands and said, “Calm down, I’m here. Okay? I’ll handle this, baby. Don’t you worry.”

You buried your face into his chest, sniffling.

He hugged you tighter, kissing your temple and rubbing your back to comfort you. He hated it, being the reason behind why you were crying. But this was necessary, wasn’t it? You refused to move in with him because you liked your apartment. So he got rid of the apartment. The whole building in fact.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He murmured against your skin as he repeatedly kissed your forehead while you cried on his shoulder. I had to do it. He thought. How else would we live under the same roof?

—

You had no choice but to live with him after that incident. Apparently the authorities couldn’t find what started the fire, and any evidence was probably ash too.

As much as you missed your cosy apartment, living with Lando was like being in a dream.

You’d wake up in his arms, spend time with the kids, have breakfast like a family, then Lando would leave for ‘work’ and you’d kiss him goodbye at the door. You’d spend your entire day with the kids, reading, baking, playing in the yard. Then he’d come home and you’d spend the evening like a family again.

After putting the kids to bed, Lando would always, always drag you straight to bed where you’d fuck until one of you passed out, then resume in the morning and repeat.

Everything was perfect.

And just weeks after moving in with him, you found out you were pregnant. When you broke the news to him, he was almost giddy with excitement.

He refused to leave your side, to the point where he’d try to be home as much as possible and would only ever leave if something desperately needed his attention or intervention.

Many times you’d find him in the kids’ playroom, talking to them about having a newborn baby around. They were all excited.

It had become impossible for him to keep his hands off you, especially once you started showing. “You’re too beautiful to resist.” He’d tell you.

You would often wake up to find him wrapped around you, nuzzling your bump and kissing it. He would find you at random times during the day, and pull you into a room or drag you to his office or your shared bedroom and fuck you until you were both completely spent.

“I can’t get enough of you.” He’d whisper each time.

You noticed he would be extra careful with you. His touch was soft, he would always fuck you nice and slow, always looking at you to confirm he wasn’t hurting you and that you were enjoying it as much as he was.

“You don’t have to be so careful all the time, you know?” You whispered to him one night, your hands running through his hair while he laid his head on your bump, kissing it occasionally. “I’m just pregnant, I’m not made of glass.”

He left a kiss on your bump then lifted his head to look up at you. “Don’t wanna hurt you,” He whispered, “Or the baby.”

You smiled at him, caressing his pretty face. “We’re okay. You worry too much.”

He kissed his way up your body, his hips settling in between your legs again. You giggled as he slid inside you again. It was the third, or fourth, time tonight.

“You never get tired these days, I see.” You whined, back arching off the bed slightly as his mouth latched on to your sensitive nipple while he moved in and out of you in a pace that made you lose your mind. He knew you were extra sensitive these days, and he took full advantage of that.

–

Lando ended up hiring a helper to aid you in taking care of the kids. But the kind lady ended up doing all the work and you’d often find yourself with nothing but free time to do whatever you wanted.

You went to Lando regarding this, and the moment you showed up in his office he pulled you onto his lap and helped you ride him instead.

“This is a serious…” You gasped as he lifted your hips up before bringing you down his cock again, “...problem.”

“Mhm,” He mumbled, lips wrapped around your nipple again. His hands held you by the hips and he slowly thrust up into you. “Is it?”

“Yes,” You argued, placing your hands on his shoulders. You looked down and smiled at your growing bump, before you glared at him, “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? Told me she was just here to help when in fact you hired her to do my actual work.”

He pulled his mouth away and smirked up at you. “You need rest, baby.” He thrust his hips up slightly harder, deeper each time until you were coming undone all over his cock again. It didn’t take much given how sensitive you were these days. When you both calmed down he said, “Now you have time to do all that you want.”

“I’m gonna get lazy.” You mumbled as you cuddled up to his side, your bump always got in the way but Lando still got as close as he could to you, wrapping his arms securely around you.

“You’re carrying our new baby, you’re allowed to be as lazy as you want.” He kissed you on the nose.

“So what, I’m just gonna be here doing nothing all day? Just read, and bake and make babies for you?”

“That’s not a bad idea.” He chuckled.

"Whatever." You groaned, “I’m too tired to be angry at you.”

He laughed. One of his hands reached out to caress your bump. “Let’s get you in bed.” He murmured against your forehead. “Okay, baby?”

You nodded.

–

By the time he got you cleaned up and in bed, you were already fast asleep. Lando checked on the kids one last time before climbing into bed with you. Pulling you close, he kissed you one more time.

Everything was perfect, just as he intended. There were some secrets he would take to his grave with him, some he would never share with you. Some truths he would never let come out; mainly the accident, and the fire.

But this right here was all that mattered, you and him together.

#lando norris #mob!lando #lando norris smut #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x you #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 smut #dark!lando

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nouearth · 11 months

Text

lessons in kissing.

dick grayson x male reader x peter parker.

summary: dick and peter become your professors in kissing 101 (& more).

wc: 6.2k. genre: smut. warnings: top!peter, top!dick, bottom!reader, handjobs, blowjobs, kissing, cum-swapping, mouth-fucking, threesome, unprotected rough!sex, reader's first time, characters are aged up!

notes: yeah, so um... this might be my dirtiest smut yet. this was also my first time writing a threesome soooo, i hope i did okay? thank you, anon!

request by: anonymous.

“you’re lying! you’ve really never kissed anyone before?”

“dude, like, ever?!” peter gasped, and you turned towards him, slowly nodding while you grew cautious of everyone’s confusion.

“not even when you were in kindergarten?” you twisted your neck for the nth time at the sound of dick’s voice again, and shame unexpectedly crept onto you the more the two men collected their bafflement together.

your cheeks and neck flamed as they both stared at you, bewildered as if your confession was akin to an unmasking of a superhero—like a family of lemurs, a small one, you’d reckon.

“geez,” your hand clutched onto the can of sparkling water harder before downing it, ridding your insecurity in several hard and fizzy gulps. “if i knew i was going to be interrogated, i wouldn’t have told you guys in confidence.”

“no, it’s just…” a careful exchange was puzzled together by the two men. dick shrugged and peter stammered, following you into the kitchen of his apartment. “i mean, not to make you feel weird or anything, but you’re not ugly.”

“i- pete, was that supposed to be a compliment?” your eyes narrowed at him jokingly, maintaining the coldness of your gaze to break peter into nervous stammers.

“w-what, no!“ he shook his head and approached you closer, a mixture of awkward laugher filling the feigned tension between the both of you. “wait- no, i mean, yes! it’s a compliment.”

you’ve always found it cute.

“i think what peter means is…” bouncy steps followed you two into the kitchen, more-so to sate his appetite for pizza after losing his tenth consecutive match on a game, but consider his curiosity piqued. a mouthful of pepperoni and cheese didn’t stop him from joining. “you’re handsome, he talks about it all the time.”

“dude...” peter grumbled and instinctively turned his body away out of your sight, sipping at nothing in his cup. the only fizz left was the glare he sent dick; like a sparkler on holiday festivities.

“oops, my bad,” another bite, and dick took his cup of soda to gulp the grease down. “we find you handsome—though, i’m pretty sure (m/n) knew that since i hit on him when we first met.”

“god,” you laughed it off, picking the pizza box of gloopy cheese to take it in your mouth. “can you imagine? my first kiss being with you? or even peter?”

yes, you can imagine. those thoughts had run rampant since you met them in freshman year of university, expanded upon it even. what would it be like to date dick? how soft were his lips? and the same for peter. sometimes, you’d even think about making out while he was in his spider-man costume, but that fantasy was shamefully bookmarked into a deep abyss of thoughts, only sprouting when you would touch yourself at night.

“why?” peter turned back, almost offended, while dick’s laughter joined you, and you swear you can feel a draft from how quickly he twisted around. “is that weird?”

“kinda?” the conversation made you shift on your feet. it was more intimate than what you were used to, and they knew it too, judging by the way they both stared at you again—hyenas. “i mean, i guess it’s because we’re so close now, so…”

“pft, that never stopped me,“ it was like a magic spell drew that confession out of dick. your fingers would have to be cut to coerce that out of you, but you weren’t dick—shameless and confident, you admired it on good days.

nonetheless, you and peter both gave dick a questioning look. offended would be a regular person’s first reaction, but from the brief exchange you and peter shared, it was unanimous that curiosity took the lead.

dick’s gaze shifted from you and peter, and when the silence drew out for longer than he would’ve thought, a welcoming draft in the room awaited his rebuttal. “come on- you seriously think i stopped thinking about you guys just because we’re best friends now?

“dude, you think about me?” peter’s eyes widened. it would’ve been hilarious if you weren’t involved. you would’ve passed this off as a banter, no more than that.

you hated to admit it, but you felt yourself throb at this revelation. blood rushed downwards in light speed and you were barely conscious to the drone of peter and dick’s chatter, but you shook it off, laughing at their banters like you aways did.

the day went on like usual. peter’s collection of video games kept you guys entertained for a few hours. when you felt fatigued from mashing your thumb onto the buttons for the ninth match, a walk downtown sufficed. laughing and bantering were the core of your friendship with dick and peter—like every friendship you’d imagine.

but at its finest, it was their vulnerabilities to you, and yours to them, that kept the foundation strong. they trusted you with every secret of theirs, aided them in a few missions of their own, and your friendship thrived.

the next few days haven’t been exactly the smoothest. you were quieter than usual, and they both took notice because you’d pick at your food while their voices—questions and comments—were ignored, passersby to the street of hearville.

was it that weird to have never kissed at your age? to never have had sex? to not even have had held hands with another guy? they never made fun of you, but you couldn’t help but let these thoughts run rampant.

no. no, it wasn’t. people have their own pace. mine... just somehow happens slower.

you weren’t insecure, but you still felt weird. you suddenly became moody when you saw dick and peter, like you want to be left alone, push them out of your apartment when they drop a visit, drop their pants and suck them off-

oh.

ohhhhh.

dick and peter.

“teach me.” you suddenly spoke out and the two men looked up from their plate of food, exchanging a look with each other before questioning you, humored because you barely spoke all day. the tv played in the background and you were all sitting on the ground, eating off of peter’s very… very small coffee table.

“ah, i almost forgot what your voice sounded like, (m/n)!” dick laughed, twirling his fork into his pasta before shoving the food into his mouth.

you made a slight pout, only because they weren’t taking you seriously. though, to be fair, you have been acting weird all week.

“with what?” peter noticed, a little more serious in his inquiry. but food was more of a priority for him, you can see him practically sweating at the thought of leaving his spaghetti cold.

“pete, you can still eat-“ you laughed, taking a bite of your food.

“oh, thank god.” and peter does the same, chowing down on his spaghetti after a hard day of saving lives.

dick cleaned his palette with a cold gulp of soda, a refreshing hiss when the bubbles trickled down his throat. “so, teach you what exactly?” he continued on. “fighting? oh, dude, are you going to be a vigilante-“

“no, no! does it look like i have the strength to be like batman or something?”

“well, i’m guessing that’s why you came to us for training?” dick amused himself, and peter chuckled, much to your annoyance.

“guys, i don’t want to be a vigilante.” you grumbled, beginning to bury your confession deep in the pit of your stomach somewhere. “or a superhero, or a guy in a spider-suit with weird web things.”

“hey, they’re not weird-“

“i want to…” it was calming to watch the way your fork swirled itself into the pasta, metal tongs pierced and capturing a wave of sauce and spaghetti all in one swirl. “learn what it’s like to kiss.”

peter choked on his glass of water.

you continued, hot in the cheeks because you can see peter’s widened eyes even when you look away. “handjobs, blowjobs, everything…”

and a piece of dick’s meatball was caught in his throat.

a low drone accompanied the silence once the tv was muted and while a huge weight lifted off your shoulders and chest, you felt small knowing how vulnerable and weird your request sounded.

“so, you want us to teach you how to…” dick cleared his throat and you feel like you could hear a smile, but you weren’t sure if that was your mind trying to convince you that everything was fine. “kiss and… other things?”

“yeah,” you continued to avoid your gaze, opting for the wooden floor instead. “i know, it’s weird. you don’t have to say yes or anything, it’s just-“

“is that why you’ve been acting stand-offish lately? peter was worried. he was the type to always blame himself of someone else’s behavior, no matter how much you tried to reassure him. though, you guess, he technically was the reason why you became so moody—part of it, anyway.

“mhm.” the silence was defeating, you can hear their necks turn to look at each other—of judgement, most likely.

and it was all but confirmed when you can see them hopping back onto their feet and running—running as far from you as possible. “guys, wait, i’m sorry-“

you looked up and watched them dash to peter’s bathroom, immediately chasing after the trail of their steps in bewilderment. “what are you-“

“first step, make sure you have good breath.” dick handed you your toothbrush, his spare one at peter’s already brushing into the foaming spearmint in his mouth.

“atleastluntilhelikeyousenough” peter gargled thick and incoherent, brushing into his jumbled sentence.

“uh-huh, okay… seems a little obvious, but…” you spread the toothpaste on the bristles of your brush and began brushing, a smile forming because you have to brush the front teeth too—but also because of your best friends.

you can always count on them.

“you ready?” dick naturally became the leader of this impromptu training program. he was the most experienced considering how many women and men you caught him with, and as much as you hated that when you were roommates with him, his expertise was needed in this moment.

“yes.” you sat in the middle of peter and dick, rubbing your sweaty palms against your shorts. a mere flash of regret ignited inside of your beating heart, but peter rested his hand on top of one of yours, squeezing ever so gently to warm and soothe you—to pacify you.

and your worries were quelled when dick does the same, his smile softer, countering his usual playful attitude. “just stop me whenever you feel uncomfortable.” he made you feel safe.

you looked at peter, and he nodded in agreement, his fingers now intertwined with yours. he had always kept you safe, feeling safe, this was a normal feeling towards him. “same with me.” “i will.” your voice was quiet in the bedroom, a mere soft whisper, but they recognized your will to be more vulnerable with one another, to blossom. and dick appeased it with a kiss.

light and feathery at first to test the water, but once dick heard your breath hitch, he applied more pressure in between your lips, capturing them in a slow waltz that kept you on your toes, yet flat on your feet to contain your excitement—your relief.

it was awkward at first, to find your footing. your nose would bump into his, teeth as well, but dick chuckled, assuring you this will always happen.

unbeknownst to you, dick’s been wanting to do this since he met you, and he savored every second. “remember what i told you… build it up.” he reminded you because you were getting eager, following his lead but returning his kiss in hard sucks. “nice and slow.”

peter’s palm on your thigh pressed gently onto your bare skin, mistakenly under the lift of your shorts because he was too in awe of the kiss, but they grounded you from your brief flight to the heavenly clouds nonetheless.

“nice and slow…” dick repeated, and you succumbed to his reminder like a prodigy. “that’s it.” it lasted for a few seconds longer until you pulled away to capture your breath again. your lips tingled still, remembering the taste of spearmint when dick’s breath ghosted on your skin.

“was that okay?” an innocent question, but you swore you stole that exact same tone from a porn you watched the other day.

“a natural,” dick laughed, stroking your hair back and you’ve never see him so affectionate—loving, as he doted on you. “try it on peter. more touching though, if you’re okay with that.”

you nodded and turned your head, meeting peter’s gaze with a flushed smile, your lips slightly swollen from your previous endeavor. “I’m okay with that.”

“me too.” peter smiled, only softening when you leaned in, and it completed hid against you when you captured his smile with a kiss.

his hand gently placed on the back of your head when you did and he pulled you closer into him, returning the kiss, and spilling his breath into yours, while at the same time, drawing yours out. “rub my chest, i like it when people do that.” peter whispered in between each kiss.

you do as you were told, a gentle hand to peter’s broad chest, and you feel yourself tightening, satisfied with how intimate this all is as you felt the muscles on his chest through the fabric.

in the meantime, dick’s been squeezing at the bulge in his pants, containing his will to completely ravish you simply by watching the way you and peter made out. he’s always been observant, noticing the strong twitching of peter’s own erection, and soon yours when peter slid his tongue into your mouth.

it was tantalizing—breath-taking— watching intimacy build up and vulnerabilities become unimaginably pliant before him. the pink muscles looped and swirled with one another, spreading and sharing sticky saliva until your mouth and peter’s were practically coated in it, glossed in sheen.

when peter pulled away, your lips were immediately stolen by dick again, kissing you with more strength than before, stubbornly refusing the chance for you to restock on oxygen as he wanted a taste of you too. the air became thicker, harder to breathe, but you basked in the taste, the wetness of dick’s tongue, and allowed yourself to become weak in his arms when he took you in, embraced you closely. “mmf...” you moaned out, breathing harder.

but just like dick, peter wasn’t finished with you, directing his tongue and lips to the back of your neck when you turned away. his ticklish and fleeting kisses pulled you back into peter’s arms, but dick noticed and pulled you forward: a stubborn game of gentle tug of war.

they wanted you, every piece of you. it was telling as peter sucked into your neck, venomous and poisoning, and when dick began directing your hand under his shirt, allowing you to feel his toned stomach and chest, and eventually his clothed erection, making you squeeze around it with an open palm.

lessons have completely escaped to the back of minds, and all that remained was pure lust.

“it’s okay if you don’t want to.” dick reassured. though, ironically, his hand atop of yours, relieving the ache in his pants continued.

through swollen lips, you managed to mutter, distracted by peter’s bruising sucks to other areas of your neck and skin, whimpering when he bit a little too hard. “i did say teach me everything…” his hands were under your shirt now, warming your bare skin with his palms, excited, but fleeting as they immediately tied to the buttons of your shorts when you gave the okay.

“hey, hey,” dick laughed, watching the way peter has grown grandly impatient. “you’re going to scare him, horn dog.” he left a kiss on your lips, a quick one before leaning past you to kiss peter.

you watched in awe at what a kiss was supposed to be like: burning with ease and passion with every stroke of their lips, no hesitation at all—just a moment of time that they’ll remember. you backed into the bed and leaned against the headboard as they kissed at the foot. you don’t remember having your hand down your shorts, but you do, palming yourself to your own private show.

the kiss ran sloppy, drool dripping down either chins, stained with intimacy, and clothes were quickly tossed to the side, with no care in the world.

you followed.

even though you were similar height to peter, he was stronger—they both were. and now, you felt smaller as they climbed onto the bed, towards you, bare and hardened. you watched breathlessly, as their cocks swung heavy with heat. peter’s pre-cum dripped thickly in yearn for something to fuck, while dick’s throbbed for something to fill—a porn scene come to life—and you were left agape, jaw and legs.

“kinda surprised we’ve never done this sooner,” peter said, you weren’t used to his voice so low. kneeling on the bed, by your left hip, he took your hand and kissed the palm, the wrist of it, skimmed his lips over your forearm before guiding It toward his cock, aching for your touch. “though, was hoping i’d have you to myself, but…” gently, your hand was cradled to wrap around his shaft, warm and running with veins, it pulsed. “this works too.”

your chest rose with every spoken word, and peter has never looked hotter. taking control of you like that made your skin crawl, a spell that commanded you to move your hand back and forth, conjuring you to pump him in slow strokes.

contrary to his overall demeanor, his actions were of warmth. caresses to your head, doting on you with honey dripping from his gaze and cotton in touch while you sinned.

you didn’t know where to look—to fall in love with the way peter gazed at you like a painting in a museum, or to salivate over the way his pre-cum leaked thickly over your hand when you squeeze it out of him, like a bottle of maple syrup.

that became more a problem—a dilemma—when you felt a wetness over your right nipple, then a sting when dick bites to get your attention—selfish and stubborn, like always. “are you sure this wasn’t a tactic to get all three of us in the same room? you seem comfortable.”

he tongued your nub, flicking back and forth to make you squirm, to hear the sound of your moans, to be the reason you have trouble sleeping at night. alongside, his palm ran over your body—chest first, down your stomach, and finally, your erect cock and balls.

you watched, breathless, continuing to stroke peter’s cock and he’d lean over to give you a few kisses here and there. for the most part, he was content like this, watching you squirm while maintaining to do the best to pleasure him.

“no, i swear- it’s just-“ dick played with your balls, squeezing and tugging on the tight sack to loosen them. every man was sensitive down there, you were no exception. “you guys made me feel safe, so…”

“well,” you looked up when peter spoke, his eyes fluttered shut, and you only got them to open when you thumbed the slit of his head, rubbing slick all over his glans, then the length of his cock when you continued stroking. “we are superheroes.”

you all laughed, switching gazes between the both of them, but it was dick’s mouth suddenly wrapping around you that made you concentrate only on him.

“oh, fuck…” warmth surrounded you, inhaled you in one shallow breath, before dick pulled you out of his wet mouth, taunting you with the loss of heat.

“it’s just like kissing,” he said, licking a stripe over the underside of your cock, tonguing his favorite spot: the neck of the glans and the frenulum. dick followed the lines of flesh with precision, leading the very tip of his tongue into the duct of your urethra—once again, tonguing it while his eyes focused on you, devious. “but let curiosity take you further and explore every part of their body.”

“m-mm…” you were sure there was meaning to his words, but they fell on deaf ears. instead, you focused on the ample heat that engulfed you again, moaning.

“every.” dick took you in and pulled you out with a pop.

“fuck-“ you breathed out, curling your toes into the sheets.

“part.” holding your cock up and stroking sloppily, he inhaled your ballsack. sweaty and musty, they must’ve been, but dick devoured the scent, the taste of sins with hungry sucks and licks—ardent and full of fervor.

and at the moment where you most expected to let out a moan, it was shoved down your throat when peter suddenly situated you in between his legs and filled your mouth with his thick cock, smelling of sweat and sex when you inhaled near his trimmed hairs.

“come on,” peter briefly pulled out, tapping the plump tip over your lips. “you learn best when you demonstrate what you’ve been taught.”

peter covered your view of dick, but you weren’t sure if you needed to see him because you felt every maneuver of dick’s tongue, now drowning your cock with his mouth while he continued assaulting your sensitive balls, tugging and squeezing.

you looked up and peter never looked bigger, more intimidating, but it’s become your new addiction, and you take his cock, holding it thick and take in what you can. it was barely past the tip before you could feel yourself gagging, but with peter’s reassurance, you swallow more of him every time you went down, slicking him up with your spit.

“how’s he doing, pete?” your cock was left cold when dick pulled away to speak, but he made up for it with his hand, stroking his spit with your cock.

“he really is a natural.” peter chuckled, watching you with a scrunched face of pleasure whenever you pulled him deeper into your mouth. almost down your throat now, but he pulled his cock back completely before you can fully take him. “you try.”

“fuck, yes.” dick leaped over and used the spit from your length earlier to lube his own cock, spitting in his palm and stroking when it wasn’t slicked to his likening while peter scooted back to kneeling at your side, stroking himself now.

as your head was positioned in between both their cocks, dick’s was bigger, thicker—a mouth stretcher you’d imagine. but peter’s was longer, veinier, and the only thing they had in common was that their balls hung loose. in porn terms, hung like a horse.

and on this very day, you considered yourself a lucky man because you have no objection to either, no will to pick and choose.

“look at you,” dick’s voice was rugged, deep, and he pushed his cock past your swollen lips. there was a clear difference in girth. your mouth was stretched wide, and you could only hum a sound of satisfaction, even with the slight sting from the stretch of skin. “who knew you’d be such a cock lover, hm?”

“he can’t get enough of it, god…” peter was in awe, salivating and stroking quicker at the sight.

two hands kept dick’s cock still in your mouth while you sucked on the bulbous tip like a lollipop. the rest of your hands stroked whatever you couldn’t mange to fit in your mouth. you were apologetic at first, but dick’s smirk told a simple story of his ego, clearly aroused by the size of his own cock as it only grew wider when you struggled downing him, gagging with a whimper.

“come on… (m/n), you can do better than that. you were so good at sucking peter off, kissing us too. what happened?” dick pulled away to stroke himself with your spit, but he quickly buried any excuses into your throat when he pushed himself into your mouth.

“you’re too comfortable now, (m/n). you’re slacking…” peter joined the banter, and when dick pulled out of your mouth, peter’s cock replaced the loss of warmth to your surprise.

holy shit, this is happening.

like a see-saw, the two men alternated in filling your mouth, stuffing saliva further and further down your throat, without allowing a single excuse from you to escape. it’s buried now, deep in the pit of your stomach, and all you can do was be the prodigy that they wished for you to be.

when it was dick’s turn to stretch your mouth, you made sure that peter’s cock wasn’t left abandoned, stroking him with distracted strokes, and vice versa when it was his turn at your throat. you overworked yourself in pleasuring your two best friends, making sure they were satisfied with you, with your mouth as you took more of them without a single plea for a break.

“fuck, there we go…” occasionally, dick would take control by holding the back of your head and fucking inside of your tight mouth. drool leaked down either corners of your mouth while you let him, tears brimming in your eyes when your throat tightened again, a familiar feeling that dick encouraged to hold back. “there’s my star. taking cock like a good student.”

if there was one thing that these very brief lessons have taught you, you were exactly what they named you: a cock lover. you slurped at whatever—whoever—entered your mouth absentmindedly, spat on cocks that have begun to look more or less the same, because it was dizzying now. your cock was left alone, but it stood tall and proud, throbbing as the two men harassed your face and mouth with their erections. one would gag you while the other had his balls shoved to your face and nose, sliding its wet, dirty slick all over your skin, staining you with lust.

it alternated like this for a while, and you were content, so was dick and peter. but you needed more—something to fill you elsewhere that wasn’t your dirty mouth. and you pleaded with your eyes, looking up at your best friends with delighted tears, a mouthful of cock, and a gaze only a cock loving whore could have—and they recognized it.

peter was reluctant to pull away, he was so close. but he’s always been selfless. he released his hold on you and it was a struggle to pull you away, but he did with your lips suctioning off with a quiet pop. a thick string of spit that once connected between your lips and peter’s cock laid like webs on your chin, cooling as you watched the two men reposition themselves.

“i’m going to assume we don’t need a lesson in how to finger yourself, hm?” dick whispered against your swollen lips and kissed you again. you were entranced under his tongue, swirling all over yours like ocean waves while you touched yourself to his licks. you twisted and pinched your nipples, tugged on them with the occasional help from dick, then stroked your cock while dick continued from peter’s original trail of bruising kisses to mark his own territory on your body. you were as horny as they were, if not hornier, and you needed them inside of you, in any way possible.

“fuck, i need you guys so bad.” breathless in your moans, your legs squirmed when you felt something wet between your thighs when they were raised, peter’s nice girth sliding in between the plump skin.

he thrusted himself slow and steady while he worked on your hole, reaching down to prepare you with his lubed digits, one by one. you’ve done this before, they were surely aware, so it wasn’t a unit that was particularly focused.

in between preparation, your mouth remained on dick’s cock again, delivering him your fullest attention with several lathers of your tongue, sucking hard and hollow, deep into your throat. you remember what he taught you and occasionally stuffed your mouth with his balls, sucking on the weight and letting go with a pull because you got off on seeing how they tensed and jiggled when you did.

“i’ll go slow.” peter leaned in with your legs hooked over his shoulders, bending you back, and kissing the tip of your nose when he was close enough to your face. “tell me if you want to stop.”

once you nodded, allowing him the will to deliver on his promise, peter made sure to lube himself up once more before pushing inside of you, slow and steady. he was careful, watching your face as it scrunched when the head slid in—burned when the rest of him filled you to the brim.

it was almost like you couldn’t breathe. it was too much, to be bearing all of this pain alone, but at the same time, you held peter close, wrapped your arms around him to prevent him from leaving you while you buried tiny whimpers into his neck, because you don’t want to stop feeling it, so full and devoured. it was written all over their faces when you glanced at them—they didn’t want to stop either.

peter and dick decorated your skin in wet kisses, distracting you from the pain while peter began to find a rhythm. although slow, you were beginning to familiarize yourself with this pain. soon after, pleasure, when he struck something inside of you, a certain spot.

“oh- peter, right there, fuck.” your legged tightened around him and the sweat from your thighs rolled back onto your stomach when peter re-adjusted himself to fuck you at a higher angle, folding you onto your back.

“yeah? right here?” peter thrusted into that spot dead-on, like a dart to a bullseye, and you groaned, your throat aching in pleasure, but dick pacified it with his cock again, filling you up once more. “oh fuck, look at you. all of your holes are filled up, fuck… so fucking tight”

“baby, you’re doing a great job, god…” your heart beat when dick called you that. it was always something he said as a joke when he arrived to your place. honey, darling, you name it, but the fact that it came out so genuine, it made your skin flush red and you could only respond in moans while you sucked him off. “i think he likes it when you fuck him like that, pete.”

for the first time, you felt wanted.

peter’s thrusts were hard and strong, his balls swung into with every rhythm. you can see the muscles in his thighs flexing whenever he pounded down into your tight hole, your bodies colliding like waves to a rock. it stung whenever his skin slapped into yours, sweaty and musky, but the sinful sounds were well-worth the prize as you basked in them, in the taste of dick’s cock, the sound of peter’s grunts, the flutter of dick’s eyes when you gargled his cock again, deeper, the sweat dripping from peter’s forehead and body—the bedroom hailed of sex. it rocked of brutal creaks and slams as both of your holes were violated and filled to the very brim, all driven by pure lust.

after some time, they switched spots, tag-teaming so dick can have his turn at your hole. unlike peter, he was rougher, immediately pounding into you because he was sex-crazed about you, couldn’t stop thinking about you since day one of meeting you.

“fuck, better than i’ve ever imagined,” he laughed into your mouth, kissing you sloppily, and pulling away when peter’s cock impatiently wedged himself in between the kiss, and you were back to sucking and jerking off cock again—no complaints. “still so tight, even after peter fucked you so hard…”

“it’s like he was made to be a whore, right?” such vulgar language from your best friends broke the original portrayal you had of them. now, all you could think about was how they wanted to absolutely make a wreck out of you, de-blossom your naive thoughts of what your first time should’ve been like.

it wasn’t what you had imagined. it was supposed to be with one person. a full-time commitment to your relationship. a loving pair holding each other close when they both climax. it was going to be special.

but this… you thought to yourself as you were fucked into the bedsheets with absolutely no mercy, your ass pained and bruised from dick’s muscular hips driving into you every time he came down, harassing you in that familiar spot again.

this was… peter pushed on your bottom lip with two fingers to open your mouth, then spitting in the void, some catching onto your tongue, before shoving his swollen cock inside of you again, aching to touch—to fuck.

dick palmed your cock as you writhed, bent under him, moaned around peter’s long cock. he gathered all of his strength left to tickle you deep, to reach inside of you with his cock, breathless and panting with every thrust that rocked the two of you together—three, when peter fucked into your mouth.

this was so much fucking better.

“holy shit-“ under dick’s touch, you came hard in several thick ropes, all over his fist, and then the sweat of your body when he opened his palm. you were a natural shooter, accidentally spraying your face with your own thick semen, and you heard peter and dick moan in unison, in awe.

seeing you dressed in cum like this had them race each other to their climax. dick fucked you harder, his grasp on your hips bruising and white, while peter held onto your head and met your throat with his cock, repeatedly forceful in strength. you gagged around him, and they only benefitted from every sound you made.

“fuck, i’m going to-“ you watched peter’s abs flexed, tightened as his stomach pooled with pleasure, and you can hear the holy bells ring when he pulled out of your mouth, jerking his wet and slimy cock off until he came undone in thick spurts, all over your pretty face. not a single shot was missed, painting you in white like a canvas with every last drop.

you were still high off of your own orgasm, and you turned your head to watch dick fuck himself into you, clearly wonder-strucked by the scene before him. you were covered in cum all over. they beckoned him to join, the many loads on your body. they were begging now, a mantra of pleas pulled him closer to you, and he can smell the sex off of you, inhaled peter’s musk as well, and again—those holy bells rang.

with the speed of lightning, dick pulled himself out of your abused hole and climbed over to kneel over your chest, fucking into his fist while simultaneously jerking his cock off over your face. to your cum-covered body, to peter kissing his spunk off your cheek and chin then your lips, to the taste of your own cum when you swiped a load off your chest and fed it into dick’s mouth. he suckled, bittersweet salt spread over his tongue, and he was ravished by the taste of you.

dick then pushed his hips out and aimed his cock over your lips, still connected to peter’s for a messy kiss, stroking until the only reason he tore his gaze away was because his lids fell heavy, ceased his sight to roll his eyes back, and came with a shudder. thick ropes of cum inked on your face and peter’s, but most of it fell to your connected lips.

“fuck, that’s hot…” dick muttered, rolling his shoulders back while he milked himself to you and peter making out, cum-stained and all. you moaned at the taste, saltier than yours and peter’s, and peter does the same while scraping a load of warm cum from the corner of your cheek and into his mouth before kissing you again, swapping the gloopy residue with a sloppy exchange of tongues.

he was envious, watching how the sticky load caught onto your lips then peter’s when he squeezed himself dry. before you and peter could take all of his cum for yourself, he leaned down to join peter for a kiss, stealing the mound of cum that peter has expertly hidden on his tongue. dick didn’t know who he was tasting anymore. but whether it was you, peter, or himself, it was delectable, and he wanted to share the delightful taste with you. he spat the mixture of cum and spit inside of your mouth before webbing his lips to yours, sealing it with one final breathless kiss.

“so, are lessons still on for next week or?” peter lay by your side, and dick joined the other, still dizzied from his high as telling by his shut eyes and drawn out pants.

“i mean… i’m still up for it if you guys are?” you said, leaning over to press a kiss to peter’s cheek. you took his smile as an answer and looked to dick for his.

“mm... yeah.” dick sleepily opened his eyes, his locks stuck to his sweaty forehead while he buried himself under the blanket. you felt his arms wrap around your waist once he got comfortable, muttering a kiss to your shoulder before dozing off.

“we’re good teachers, pete.

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

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