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annwrites · 2 days

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i'm fearless, except when it comes to you ෆ˟̑*̑˚̑*̑˟̑

— pairing: fezco x fem!reader

— type: longfic

— summary: you & fez have been best friends since kindergarten. and eventually, that friendship turns into so much more.

— tags: friendship, fwb, falling love, so much fluff, found family

— tw: canon-typical violence, murder, domestic abuse, death, cussing, guns, sex

— word count: 8k

— a/n: i'm actually really proud of this one. who knew me wanting to write 1 scene would turn into...this lol.

Since you were five-years-old, you and Fezco had been best friends. Practically inseparable. Two halves of a whole.

He’d been your first kiss in kindergarten, and when you were sixteen and he seventeen—your first time.

It'd started out with the two of you lying together on the couch watching a movie, you pressed against his side, his arm around you, which had led to him tickling you on the floor, to him gently moving his hand under your shirt. And then he'd been given your blessing to remove each item of your clothing one-by-one until you were naked before him.

He'd seen you undressed before—more times than he could count—from you just getting out of the shower and raiding his closet for a t-shirt to wear to bed, dropping your towel right in front of him as you dressed, to you trying on clothes in front of him.

Not to mention the summer before, when there'd been a three-day blackout and the apartment had gotten to damn-near a hundred degrees. So the two of you had—through nervous giggles—stripped down naked and hold up in his room, lying on his bed and just talking. For hours.

You'd cursed the power when it came back on.

But this instance had been different. Context mattered. The most intimate thing the two of you had done before this was making out with tongue, his hands never touching any other part of you than your face or hips.

And so the both of you had spent the next fifteen minutes on the floor with your legs thrown over his shoulders, his face between your thighs. When you had finished, him kissing you there a few times, he'd rested his chin on your pelvic bone, smiling up at you.

He'd then gotten up, him taking your hand in his as he led you to his bedroom and the two of you had made love.

He'd been slow, gentle, sweet. His fingers twined between yours, soft kisses shared between the two of you as he eased himself in and out of you, telling you more times than you could count how much he loved you.

You'd cried after, tears of happiness, as he held you in his arms, pressed against his chest.

And that night something permanently shifted between the two of you. What you had, had become so much more than friendship. You couldn't even call it love, because you'd already had that before the sex.

Perhaps falling in love? But you'd already felt that toward him beforehand.

In the end, neither of you felt a need to put a label on what you had, what you were. You loved each other and that was all that mattered.

The two of you were faithful to one another. You didn't even look in another's direction. Your eyes were only for each other.

And you took care of him and he you.

You grew up in a rough household, which was putting it lightly. You showed up to Fez's with fresh bruises fairly regularly, until one day he'd had enough.

Eventually, the day came when he'd put his foot down and told you that you were moving in and that was the end of it. You'd agreed easily.

Fez wasn’t going to tolerate his abusive behavior toward you just on principal, but the fact he’d endured such treatment himself…your dad was lucky that Fez had let him live so long.

So, he'd driven you home, gathered your things—what little you had—loading them all into his car, but just before leaving, your dad had showed up, high as a kite, screaming that you weren't going anywhere.

He'd grabbed you, and hit you right in front of Fezco.

You'd never seen Fez lose his temper before that day. He'd hauled off on your dad, and when he released you, Fez had told you sternly to get in the car and to stay there.

You'd watched, trembling, as he beat your father to a bloody pulp. He'd then grabbed the back of his head by his hair, forcing him to look to the passenger side where you sat and he brought his mouth close to his ear, pointing to you, his top lip in a permanent sneer as he said something to him. Your dad had nodded fervently before Fezco let him go, his face smacking off of the pavement when he did.

He'd then walked around to the driver's side and sped away, holding your hand in his the entire time he drove the two of you back to what was now your new home.

Your hands had been trembling, but not out of fear of him. No, you were never afraid of him.

Rather afraid of your father calling the police on Fez just to get even.

Thankfully, that never happened.

You'd lightly ran the fingers of your opposite hand over his bloodied knuckles and he'd shrugged—reading your mind. "Be alright. He finally got what he had comin'."

That night, you'd showered with him, gently washing the blood from his face, tending to his now-swollen knuckles. He'd told you not to bother, but after, you'd put antibiotic ointment on them, wrapped them in clean bandages, and held a bag of frozen vegetables against them as the two of you lied in bed in silence.

Your being so quiet had made Fez uneasy. You were always talking his ear off—which he adored. But he knew you feared men; understood it. Your father had instilled such a feeling inside of you at a young age.

He'd never forget the one and only time you'd flinched at his touch.

When you were younger, you'd hid it well—your at-home life—but one day, when you were thirteen, the two of you had been hanging out at the shop, and you'd been helping Ash stock shelves. At one point, you'd turned and Fez had been behind you. He'd lifted his hand to grab something off the top shelf and you'd flinched so hard you'd slammed your head into the display, nearly knocking it over.

You'd burst into tears near-instantly, running into the back and locking yourself in the bathroom for nearly an hour.

He'd stood on the other side of that door, fighting back tears himself just from hearing you in so much pain. He'd begged softly for you to please let him in—all he wanted was to hold you—but you'd told him, quietly, that you didn't want to be touched at that moment.

He'd understood, but it had still stung. He wanted to be a safe place for you. A safe person. A safe man.

Once you had finally come out, your eyes and nose both red from crying, you'd slowly looked up to him and his eyes had been full of a feeling you couldn't place. Sympathy? Pity?

You later realized it had been love.

He'd sat you down and you finally told him everything.

He'd never been more angry in his entire life, but he didn't show that to you. Not for a moment. He never ever wanted you afraid of him. Not for one fucking second.

So you lying there next to him, completely silent... He couldn't not do—say—something.

He rolled over, setting the bag of vegetables to the side and he gently caressed your cheek. "I never meant to scare you. 'M sorry if-"

You raised your head up enough to press your lips to his, cutting him off. You kissed him long and deep and he let you, enjoying every moment.

When you pulled away, you gently ran your fingers through the beginnings of a beard that he was trying to grow. "I'm not scared of you."

He'd studied you for a moment, running the fingers of his injured hand through your soft hair, his eyes looking into yours before he finally pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, whispering to you that he loved you before the two of you fell asleep, his body wrapped around your own.

Adjusting to living with Fez hadn't been all that difficult. You already spent nearly every day over there with him and Ash, cleaning, cooking, sometimes decorating. You'd even occasionally buy fresh flowers to put in cheap vases on the windowsill—Fez refusing to throw them out until they were brown and wilting. But you still worried, nonetheless, that he would eventually tire of you; deeming that he'd made a mistake in asking you to live with him.

Hanging out regularly was one thing. Being around each other every waking and non-waking moment of every day something else entirely. And what would Ash think?

Your fears of Ash feeling like you were just barging into he and his brother's home—because that's what the two of them practically were to one another—was put to rest the next morning, with Ash telling you over breakfast that it was "'bout damn time" and that he had apparently told Fez once that the two of them should've "taken your old man out a long time ago" after you showed up with a black eye one night.

Fez had only smirked, shrugging, replying with a "maybe so", brushing his foot against yours under the table.

In truth, it made Ash very happy to see the both of you together—whether you both wanted to call it "being together" or not—he thought it incredibly stupid that the two of you didn't just call yourselves boyfriend and girlfriend.

He'd never say it out loud, but he saw you as a maternal figure, and he was grateful to have you around all the time now. He told Fez it was just so they wouldn't have to worry about where to bury your dad's body anymore, but in reality...clean sheets, freshly-washed clothes, and hot dinners every night were a really nice thing to have. And there'd been that one time you'd taken care of him when he came down with the flu and spent the next three days puking up his fucking guts.

The three of you may've been small and all coming from broken homes, but together you made what felt like one big family.

You didn't mind—never had, really—that Fez was a drug-dealer. He'd talked to you about it a few days after your fully settling in, telling you that you living there was putting you at risk.

It'd been different when you were just there hanging out; if the police busted in, you could easily feign ignorance of his...business ventures.

He made it clear that he wanted you there, but understood if you left because you had some place better to live.

Even if the both of you knew you had nowhere else to go.

He told you if SWAT busted down the door, or he was arrested, you'd go down right alongside him as an accomplice. That no matter how much he may want to, he wouldn't be able to protect you from the cops, especially if he himself were behind bars.

You'd simply climbed into his lap, straddling him, and told him there was nowhere else you'd rather be—risk of arrest notwithstanding.

He loved you for it—loving him despite who and what he was—but the feeling that you deserved better was always there. But if you wanted to be there, he wasn't going to waste his breath trying to convince you otherwise.

Refusing to do so was the most selfish thing he'd probably ever done. Because you were his whole world and he didn't want to lose you. He wanted you there, with him.

Gradually, those lines between best friends and something more—maybe lovers—began to blur.

You'd given each other pecks on the lips before and told each other "love you" numerous times, but those pecks turned into deeper kisses, longer. "Love you" turned into "I love you".

The first time he'd seen you naked had been an accident. You'd just gotten out of the shower and had walked into his room to dress. He'd been unaware you were naked when he had pushed the cracked door open, leaning in the doorway, asking if you wanted to get takeout that night—Ash offering to go pick it up.

He'd froze when he saw you clutching one of his t-shirts to your middle, every inch of your naked frontside visible to him.

It was like his mind had short-circuited in that moment and all he could manage to do was stare. And stare. Eyes wide, mouth hanging slightly open.

And while you hadn't frozen, you stood there anyway, wanting him to look at you. Finally, he had walked over, gently taking the t-shirt from your grip before unfolding it and slipping it on over your head. You looked up to him, tucking your hair back behind your ears, now slightly embarrassed. "Chinese sounds good."

He smiled down at you.

Over time, you started wearing more and more of Fez's clothes. Mostly to bed. And only ever just t-shirts. You eventually stopped bothering with panties. And he certainly noticed when you were in the kitchen, reaching for a glass on the top shelf of a cabinet. He told himself for the longest time he'd move them down lower, but never did.

He had offered to sleep on the pullout couch when you first moved in, telling you that his bed was all yours if you wanted it, but you'd instead asked "what if we just slept together". He liked that idea much better.

He himself usually slept naked, but opted for wearing boxers to bed for awhile for your sake. One night, however, he took them off beforehand, heart pounding, but curious what your reaction might be to him doing so. You'd merely glanced up to him, flushed, then said, "oh" before looking back to the book you were currently reading.

After he climbed into bed beside you, you eventually gave up on the page you'd tried to read five times in a row and decided to lie down for the night as well. It was almost three a.m. before you found sleep.

The next night, as payback—rather, you wanted to be naked beside him, but never would admit that out loud—you had come into the bedroom, Fez playing something on his Xbox, and shut the door behind you before reaching down to the hem of his t-shirt you had on and pulling it off, tossing it on the floor.

All you could remember was him cursing as he lost the round, his attention now firmly elsewhere.

And then it became nightly: the two of you going to bed naked, but never doing anything more intimate than talking before going to sleep.

Sometimes each of you would wake up with the other wrapped around you, but when morning came, neither of you said anything about it. It was just the way things were. Sometimes the two of you found each other in your sleep. Sometimes not.

Fez tried to drive you to and from school as much as possible, but between the shop and dealing, it wasn't always feasible, since he needed to be home a lot. You understood that, but always felt giddy when you saw his black Impala in the parking lot. Him usually leaning against the passenger side smoking, waiting for you.

Others would stare as you ran into his arms, squealing as he picked you up and spun you around—your legs wrapped around his middle—but neither of you paid your classmates any mind.

He'd drive you back home with his hand between your thighs, rubbing his thumb against the soft skin of your leg, his other hand resting over the steering wheel.

The one time you'd taken his hand and moved it under your panties instead, he'd swerved into another lane, nearly causing a wreck. You'd sheepishly apologized, and never did it again.

He'd merely told you with a laugh "Lemme know next time you're gonna do something like that, baby, so I can pull over first".

Sometimes, neither of you could wait that fifteen minute drive back home and he'd pull off into a secluded spot off the main road and you'd climb into his lap, unbuckling his belt, him pulling your panties to the side under your dress as he eased into you.

You both prayed your birth control had worked every time he came inside of you.

He had promised you in the dark of the bedroom one night, however, that if one day it didn't, he'd take care of you. Both of you. If that's what you wanted.

You'd pressed your naked body even closer to his and whispered that it would be.

After school, once your homework was completed, you'd sometimes clean the apartment, the windows open and your favorite music drifting down the hall as you checked in on his grandma every once in awhile, making sure she was alright.

Other times, you'd go to the shop with him and watch as he worked. Once, shortly before closing, you'd been sitting atop a freezer in the front near the register, which housed various types of ice-cream. Fez had been between your legs, which were wrapped around his middle, your panties already in his pocket. You'd had your fingers clutching the gold chain around his neck, holding him in place as the two of you kissed, his hands gripping your bare hips under your dress, your slickness making a wet spot on the front of his jeans.

Until you were rudely interrupted by a boy you went to school with, but had never bothered learning the name of. He was tall, brunet, with an unhappy look on his face as he watched the two of you.

"Could somebody ring me up already?" He said, voice full of impatience, if not also a hint of disgust.

Not that either of you cared.

Fez had given you a peck on the nose and stepped away with a "back to work; you gotta stop distracting me, shawty" before bagging his things and sending him on his way.

You laughed, since he was the one who'd lifted you onto the cooler in the first place, and stealing your panties had been all his idea.

The guy had given you a dirty look as he left, but as soon as Fezco had his lips on your neck and his hand between your thighs, you quickly forgot about him.

When Fez was making deals in the apartment, you were always instructed to stay in the bedroom with the door locked, and for you to stay quiet. You never argued, understanding he sometimes did business with some very nasty and dangerous people.

You feared for his safety at times, but he was good at what he did and had never had any negative altercations thus far.

And he was always packing.

Which may or may not have turned you on all the more when you were in his lap and could feel a gun in his waistband.

You once told him as much and his brows had raised, a quite-surprised expression overtaking his features. "really?" he asked in disbelief. All it had taken was moving his hand between your legs and a "really" in reply before the two of you had sex right there on the couch. Twice.

After that day, he began cleaning his guns a lot more often, right in front of you. You usually just smirked and laughed about it, but it always got him his desired result—you inevitably coming over and silently taking his hand, leading him into the bedroom.

There had been a night when the two of you were in the middle of having sex when someone had started pounding on the front door. You'd immediately froze, staring up at him with wide, frightened eyes.

Ash had been outside your door immediately, telling Fez to get a gun—he already had his—and come find out who it is.

Fez had slipped out of you, quickly dressing, telling you to stay put as he hid a pistol in the back of his pants, exiting the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind him.

You'd walked silently over to the door, pressed your ear up against it, and listened for something—anything. Praying whatever was about to transpire...if it ended badly, that it would be for the other party.

You heard male voices. You were unable to make out what was being said, but the voices weren't raised, and the door hadn't been slammed or kicked in. So you'd gone back to bed, now a bit calmer, and eventually you drifted off to sleep.

But you had fucked up in forgetting to lock the door.

When Fez found Mouse in the bedroom, looking down at you sleeping—thankfully clutching blankets to your front, only your back bare—his hand brushing some hair out of your face, tracing his knuckles along your soft cheek, Fez had filled with murderous rage.

"Get. Out. This room is off fuckin' limits."

Mouse had only glanced back to him. "Door was unlocked, homes. Told you I was lookin' for the bathroom. Guess I chose the wrong room," he said with a shrug.

Fez took a step closer. "Told you it was at the very end of the hall. This look like the end of the fuckin' hall to you?"

He was beginning to raise his voice and you stirred in your sleep, then settled again. Mouse turned a bit more toward him, raising a finger to his lips. Then, "She's fuckin' fine, man. Looks like you got yourself some A1 pussy, if I say so myself." He smirked. "Ever think of sharin' with a brother?"

If Fez didn't get him out of the bedroom and even further away from you, and soon, he was going to commit a felony.

"I don't fuckin' share, so no."

When Mouse looked back to him, not liking his tone, he immediately took note of the gun that was now-visible in his front waistband, his t-shirt tucked behind it.

Mouse then looked into his eyes, the two of them staring one another down for just a moment, before Mouse finally stepped away from you. "Normally, I wouldn't tolerate that threat shit. But I'll give you a pass tonight. I know how it can be when a bitch got you wrapped around her finger."

As they stepped back out into the hall, Fez locking, then closing the door behind him, he gave Mouse a simple reply: "Don't ever fuckin' talk about her like that again."

Rue becomes the first person Fez eventually refuses to deal to.

She doesn't take kindly to his refusal, and you can see how much her reaction to it hurts him—the obscenities she screams at him, yelling that he was the one who had made her into what she had become. All you could do was press yourself against his back, wrapping your arms around him, waiting for her to leave.

He'd leaned his head against one of the walls in the hall and whispered "I did the right thing, right?" to you, which you had replied that he had, that this was the best thing for her, and that you loved him.

But that day hadn't been the last time either of you would see her. Your dislike for her grows as she gets Fez involved in her own personal issues with your fellow classmates, like Nate Jacobs. The same boy who'd given you both such a nasty look the day you'd been enjoying one another's company atop the cooler.

Nate comes by one day, once again late at night, and Fez makes it clear that he's to stay clear of Rue and her friend, Jules.

Nate had insulted Fez, then had asked, after Fez had threatened his life—staring at you all the while—if the list of people he was to stay away from included anybody else, or if 'lil' miss white-trash-beautiful' was free game.

You'd raced over to Fez before he could do something he would end up regretting as he quickly stepped around the register, taking both of his hands in yours, telling him what Nate had said didn't matter and to just let it go—let him go. You'd begged him to just look at you, but he refused to do so until Nate had finally driven away.

And then he had. He'd removed his right hand from yours and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, gripping your chin in his fingers, before looking into your eyes. "If he ever comes near you again, I won't hesitate to put his ass six feet in the fuckin' ground".

You never told him how wet that one comment alone had made you. He didn't need anymore encouragement to go after and kill him.

And then the cops had raided the apartment and you, Fez, and Ash had scrambled to flush all the drugs down the toilet, Fez panicking, telling you to climb out one of the windows, but you refused to leave the two of them.

And that night was the first time you'd not only had a gun pointed at you, but the first time you'd ended up in cuffs.

You and Ash had sat on the floor while the police questioned Fezco for the next over an hour about where the drugs were, all while he played stupid.

And then the cops had laid into you, telling you that they could help you—get you away from your "abusive lowlife boyfriend", that they could "get you into rehab if he had you strung out, if you'd just cooperate". You did just as you and Fez had rehearsed and used tears to your benefit, telling them you didn't have any idea what they were talking about. That the three of you had just been getting ready to make dinner when they'd torn your home apart.

That Fez loved you.

And then you took the lie a step further, telling them to please uncuff you. Your stomach hurt and you were worried all of this stress was going to make you miscarry. You'd begged them—you couldn't lose your baby.

Fez had sat there frozen, completely fucking petrified, staring at you, a thousand thoughts going through his head. The most prominent among them? He'd nearly gotten you killed all over a few grand in narcotics. You, and your and his baby both.

The sob story hadn't deterred the police in their interrogation. The most they'd done was uncuff your hands, which you'd then gingerly placed over your stomach.

Once the police had left, Fez had dropped to his knees in front of you, pressing his hands to your stomach, asking over and over again if you were ok, if they baby was ok.

Ash had called him "fuckin' stupid", asking if he'd really believed that.

Fez had looked up to you confused and your face went red with embarrassment. "I thought it would get them out faster."

Hurt flashed across his features then, and you felt sick with yourself.

That night, you'd apologized profusely in bed, but so did he.

In the end, the both of you decided there was nothing which needed forgiven.

Fez admitted, only for a moment, that the thought of the two of you having a baby had actually...excited him, even if he worried about what sort of life he could provide for the both of you.

And then you'd told him when the time came, the both of you would figure that out together; it wasn't all on him. And then you had had sex. And for the first time, even if it was incredibly stupid of him, Fez hoped something more would come from it.

When you'd expressed fear to Fez of what would happen with people he owed money and product to now that he couldn't pay them, he'd merely told you that he'd "take care of it".

When he came back home one night with a few grand in a duffel bag, you never asked where it had come from. You'd just helped him count and hide it.

And then you had washed his bloody clothes, telling him to also shower to remove the evidence of whatever he had done.

Fez hadn't told you his intentions for the New Year's Eve party at Virgil's. He'd simply told you that the three of you were going to have a good time. And on the way there, he'd promised to kiss you at midnight, earning a groan from Ash in the backseat, which had made you laugh.

As the clock struck closer to that time, however, Fez had excused himself from the couch the two of you were seated on, saying he was getting up to get a drink. You'd tensed up as you watched him and Nate converse for a moment, Nate looking at you for a moment.

And that's when Fez had busted a bottle over his head.

Nate had fallen to the floor, Fez climbing on top of him and beating him within an inch of his life.

You'd stood by, horrified, as Nate's face became more and more bloodied and swollen. It took two guys to pull Fez away and once they had, he'd quickly grabbed your hand, leading you out of the house, Ash already waiting in the car.

And that's when you realized it had all been pre-planned.

You'd asked him why on the way home, and he'd told you his theory that, after him threatening Nate, he'd been the one to call the cops. And him making a vulgar comment about you—once again—had been the last straw.

You and Fez fucked until you were sore that night.

Some weeks later, Nate's dad showed up and Ash beat the living hell out of him with the butt-end of a rifle every time he got smart as Fez questioned him, until blood was pouring from the top of his head.

The more he and Fez talked, the more confused every one of you grew. By the end, Fez had something monumental over Cal—and you supposed, by extension, Nate, as this getting out would ruin the entire Jacobs family—he'd made a sex-tape with Jules. He'd said at one point that he "didn't know". Fez had of course misinterpreted what he'd meant.

But you understood.

Either he was lying, or he truly hadn't known she was a minor. Either way, he had made a disc which contained...something that would land him in prison for perhaps the rest of his life. And if he was anything like his son, maybe he would deserve it.

You, Fez, and Ash had stayed up most of the night in the living room, Little House playing softly in the background as the three of you debated what to do with the new information you’d been given.

Ash wanted to report him to the police—destroy his and Nate’s life. Mostly Nate’s for the raid, which you were sure Ash would never get past.

You wanted to sit on it. You didn’t want to do anything rash. Not yet. You weren’t even sure that—once he was out of the hospital—you wanted Nate aware of what you all now knew about his father. It would’ve provided some sick sense of satisfaction to throw such a thing in his face, sure. But he’d—at least most likely—called the cops on you all once already.

There was no telling what he might do if you blew his entire life up in the worst way possible.

As for Fez, he’d stated the obvious: unless you all got ahold of a copy of that disc, what you all knew didn’t mean shit. Only having solid proof of what Cal had done would get you anywhere.

And so the subject was dropped. But it was always there, waiting. As was the paranoia of Nate going a step further in getting revenge after what had happened during New Years.

You lost a bit of sleep over it all for a few weeks.

That constant stress loomed over your head of losing everything.

And you knew if Nate did it—if he sought vengeance again—it would be the last time. Fezco would kill him. And you’d do whatever was asked of you to help. Even though you knew Fez would never involve you in such a thing.

He’d already tried to destroy the life you all had worked so hard to build and keep ahold of once. It wasn’t going to happen again.

But, surprisingly, once Nate had recovered and was back at school…nothing happened.

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And just as you were beginning to grow comfortable again, Mouse was beginning to become more and more of a problem. Constantly pushing for Fez to sell more product and earn more money and give him a bigger cut.

Until the night Ash killed him with a hammer.

You’d been locked in the bedroom, same as always, some cheesy romance movie on TV which was slowly putting you to sleep, until you heard yelling.

You’d jolted awake, heart racing, fear running through you.

And then you’d done something very stupid.

You’d gone in the closet, retrieved one of Fez’s glocks and exited the bedroom. You’d stepped quietly down the hall—silent as can be, your heart pounding in your ears—then peeked around the corner and you had froze when you saw it.

Mouse was dead, Custer and Ash screaming at each other—blood pouring from Custer’s nose, which was now a bloody mess.

Ash insistent that, had he not done it, Mouse would’ve shot Fez.

You’d gasped, dropping the gun. It thumped against the floor, making all three of them turn toward you as you covered your mouth, tears now slipping from your eyes as you choked back panicked sobs.

Fez quickly stepped over to you, turning you away from the gruesome sight before you as he held you against his chest with one hand, the other coming up to cup the back of your head. He’d whispered soothing words, telling you—promising you—that everything would be ok. That he would explain it all to you later. But, for right now, he needed you to go back in the bedroom and not come back out until he told you otherwise.

You’d looked up to him, your chin wobbling, and nodded, turning to go back down the hall.

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You had nightmares for weeks afterward. About Mouse not actually being dead and coming to kill all three of you. Or about the cops coming to take Fezco and Ash away. Once, you’d had a dream about Fezco standing over you with a pistol. You’d shot up in bed, drenched in sweat, a gunshot ringing in your ears.

You never told him about the last one.

The others you weren’t exactly able to hide. The two of you usually fell asleep with you in his arms, pressed close to his chest, his thigh wedged between both of your legs. So when you would start to whine or cry or thrash in your sleep…well, it obviously woke him as well. And usually it took the better part of an hour for him to calm you enough before you managed to fall back asleep.

You drug at school most days, daydreaming about getting back home, stripping, and crawling beneath the covers for a couple of hours before getting up to make dinner and do your homework.

Until you started waking to dinner having been prepared for you and Ash having done your homework, even if you insisted that him doing so wasn’t necessary—he had enough on his plate. But he usually just brushed such insistence off.

Eventually, the nightmares started to lessen and you did your best to forget about Mouse. About that night. And your life, once again, returned to normal.

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The most exciting thing that even occurred came a few weeks later: the news coming to light that Nate had apparently been hooking up with Cassie while he and Maddy were broken up…or on a break…or whatever they were. You didn’t really care.

And then had come Lexi’s play, where she’d seemingly cast knock-off versions of all of her friends and their friends and aired all of their dirty laundry for the whole school to see.

You’d skipped it, but had heard bits-and-pieces about it around school. A small part of you even wished that you had gone to it just to see Maddy and Cassie beating the crap out of each other on-stage, if nothing else.

Instead, you had stayed home with Fez and Ash, the three of you eating dinner and then playing Monopoly, which you were sure Ash had cheated at, but you couldn’t prove how.

Fez had tried to bribe you into selling him your properties through the promise of whispered sexual favors—Ash yelling for him to ‘knock it the fuck off’, and that he ‘wasn’t being fair’. You’d given him Park Place without qualms and it had earned you half an hour of oral once you were both in bed for the night.

Boardwalk had earned you him tying you up and having his way with you. He’d asked how, exactly, that was supposed to be considered you winning something for yourself when he was getting to have all the fun, but you’d replied simply by spreading your legs and calling him daddy.

He’d had no idea what to do with that other than laugh.

You’d flushed out of embarrassment, having never called him that before, but he’d made love to you for over an hour anyway.

═════════════════════════════════

During the summer, between your junior and senior year, the best day of your life happened. Up until that point, that is, at least.

You’d gone out to run a few errands—Fez and Ash continuously sending you things they’d forgotten to ask you to pickup before you’d left—your fuse growing shorter with every item you had to backtrack in the Impala to go get.

When you finally got back to the apartment, ready to explode once you got through the door, you’d stopped, all anger leaving you when you took in the sight before you.

The windows were open, the apartment spotless, and candles and flowers everywhere. And right in front of you was Fezco, down on one knee, a small box with a ring inside in his trembling hand.

You’d dropped the groceries you’d been holding, your hands coming up to rest over your mouth as tears welled in your eyes.

You’d stepped closer, until he took your left hand in his, and he said so many sweet and loving things.

He told you how you were the love of his life, how you held his heart in the palms of your hands, how you were the only woman he had and would ever want. He told you how desperate he was to start the rest of his life with you as his wife, how he wanted to give you his name—the first of many things he wanted to give you—or, rather, continue to give you as he had already done so much for you.

And you’d dropped to your knees and kissed him, deeply. And you had of course said yes. And he’d slid the simple diamond ring on your finger that he’d found at a pawnshop almost an hour of town (he’d scoured all the ones nearby, but nothing had seemed right—none had been the one for you), until one was.

And then you’d made love right there on the floor.

═════════════════════════════════

Senior year, you stayed to yourself. You didn’t bother making friends with the other students, or seeing what their lives were like. You wanted no part in any of that—their breakups and fights and stupid shallow drama. You just focused on your life with Fez and Ash and their grandma, Marie.

You and Fez had actually gotten married two weeks after his proposal. It felt strange—sitting in the middle of English class as you filled out worksheets and kids snickered amongst themselves in the back—when you glanced down to your wedding ring, knowing you were now someone’s wife.

And you’d never felt happier.

═════════════════════════════════

A little over a month before graduation, you found out you were pregnant. And when you told Fez, presenting him with a custom-made t-shirt which said ‘Best Dad on the West Coast’, he’d cried, pressing kiss after kiss to your stomach, promising he would be the best father he could be.

You’d given Ash a similar gift, but instead of ‘dad’, it had said ‘brother’—since you considered him a sort of surrogate son—and he’d taken the t-shirt, nodding his head, his brows furrowed, and had excused himself after muttering ‘thanks’, and you knew it was so he could go cry in private.

When you graduated, the two of them, even Faye and Custer, had been in the crowd and they’d screamed…unbelievably loud as you walked the stage. You’d smiled so wide it made your cheeks hurt and all five of you had taken at least a hundred pictures after.

And then you’d all gone to dinner, Faye and Custer giving you a graduation gift, which had actually been a cute onesie for the baby, which said ‘mommy’s girl, daddy’s world’ on the front, causing tears to gush from your eyes, which you then blamed on the hormones.

You’d then all gone bowling and Custer had somehow managed to kick everyone’s asses, with Ash coming in as a close second. Faye had just wanted to play with the bumpers up, so you all had played another game while the guys watched—Custer and Fez drinking and joking while Ash complained that the bumpers defeated the whole purpose of the game (even if he did play with you all)—and Faye had won.

Ash had blamed it all on the bumpers, claiming they’d ‘thrown off his game’.

When you returned home, you’d been exhausted. You and Fez had taken a bath together and when you lied down in bed, he’d rubbed your feet until you fell asleep, clutching a small teddy bear to your chest.

You’d been sleeping with the toy off and on, insisting you wanted it to have your scent for when the baby finally came, so she’d have it to sleep with in her bassinet beside the bed.

═════════════════════════════════

Shortly before the baby was born, Fez had gotten himself out of dealing—which hadn’t been an easy feat, to put it lightly—and had then sold the store, which had earned you all enough for him to put a down payment on a house outside of East Highland.

The move had been a pain while pregnant. Not because you had helped, but because Fez, Ash, Faye, and Custer had all refused to let you so much as lift a single box.

You told yourself, as you sipped on lemonade and watched them carry box after box down to the U-Haul Fez had rented, that now was the time to enjoy being given time off. Because once the baby arrived, you wouldn’t be getting such a break for the next eighteen years.

And you couldn't wait.

Fez had gotten himself a job in a small mechanic shop, which he quickly worked up to being partner of after the older gentleman who owed it took a shine to him and his odd, if not endearing little family.

You’d watched, once the four of you were officially moved into your new home, as Ash and Fez worked on putting together furniture in the nursery, your hand resting over your pregnant belly as you stood in the doorway as they put together your daughter’s crib.

You’d then gone to check on Fez’s grandma. And while she, as ever, never spoke, you told her everything, the same as you always had, to ensure she was always involved in your lives.

And only a few weeks later, she had passed silently in her sleep. And while Fez and Ash had been distraught, you somehow felt like you knew she was at-peace. Like she’d been holding on long enough until you all had made it to finally let go.

You’d held Fez in bed, night after night, his cheek pressed against your belly as he cried, talking about how much he missed her, or just telling wild stories of her younger days to both you and your little one.

And in time, his and Ash’s grief turned to fond remembrance. They had both just hoped that Marie would hold on long enough to meet her granddaughter, but you promised they would one day meet anyway. And they did when you would go visit her at the cemetery.

═════════════════════════════════

When your little girl was born, she was loved and adored by everyone.

Faye and Custer became like a surrogate aunt and uncle. Ash was…an absolutely awesome older brother; you could tell much of how he treated being a brother came from all Fez had taught him. And Fez…well, you had to settle for only having half of his heart now. But the same went for him with yours.

And those two halves made a whole, just as they were always meant to. A whole, which belonged to your daughter and her alone.

When Hank, the owner of the auto shop, was ready to finally retire, Fez had panicked. He had a wife and baby girl to look after now—the two of you had decided that you should stay home and take care of your daughter instead of work (Fez was honestly just really old-fashioned at heart and wanted to provide for the both of you)—but his fears were quickly squashed when Hank signed the shop over to him.

He’d told Fez he’d become like a son to him, while your daughter had become the grandchild he’d never gotten to have. He wanted to make sure he did this one thing right—ensuring you all were well taken care of.

You had been inconsolable, you were so grateful when the two of them told you.

He ensured you that you all were doing him a favor, really. He’d put his life’s work into that shop, and now he knew it wouldn’t be torn down and replaced with some “nonsense hipster smoking joint”, as he’d put it. He knew Fez would look after it well.

And he did.

Fez hired Custer on, who’d also recently gotten himself and Faye moved into an apartment closer to the both of you—he no longer dealing and while it’d taken a lot of effort, Faye had gotten herself clean—and once Ash was older, he became his assistant manager.

He even taught your daughter, Carrie, a bit about cars as she grew older. Every now and again, someone from East Highland stopped in to have their car serviced, but you thankfully never saw Nate Jacobs again. You never bothered looking into what happened to the troubled young man; you didn’t really care.

When Hank passed, it hit Fez really hard. One night, after taking a bath, you’d found him in Carrie’s room, holding her as he cried silently. So you’d set down on the bed beside them and wrapped the both of them in your arms and cried with him and told him how much he had meant to him. That he would be honoring his memory as the new owner of the auto shop.

He tried to visit Hank’s grave weekly, and you did when you were able, always bringing fresh flowers, which you grew in your backyard with your daughter.

Eventually, Custer and Faye married as well, you serving as Faye’s maid-of-honor, and Fez as Custer’s best man at their wedding, which had had one hell of a reception afterward. Fez and you hadn’t gotten drunk like that since you were teenagers. Which had consequently resulted in another unexpected gift, which the two of you had decided to name Hank.

Ash eventually met a girl, and as you watched the two of them, you realized how much they reminded you of you and Fez when you were their age. It was a bit…unnerving, at times. But you knew they were just right for one another with that simple observation alone.

As the years went on, your family only grew. Custer and Faye eventually having a son of their own, Ash and his girlfriend getting married, your daughter growing up and one day meeting a girl, which she fell in love with. And your son finding himself an outgoing woman who always kept him on his toes.

And one day, you looked up, and that broken home where your father had ruled with fists was so far away, you could no longer see it.

All you could was the love right in front of you.

It’d taken unspeakable violence and struggle to get here, but you had made it.

All of you.

#fic: euphoria (fezco x reader )#fezco x reader #reader x fezco #fezco x y/n #euphoria x reader #fezco x you #euphoria x you #yeah in this one the swat raid never happens #and custer doesn't betray fez #had to give a happy ending #i'm actually really proud of this fic lol

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annwrites · 4 days

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euphoria masterlist

fezco

you're fez's best friend & the love of his life

nate jacobs

nate asks you to tutor him, but he's only doing it to get closer to you: pt 1

#masterlist: euphoria

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annwrites · 4 days

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exactly what he needs, pt. 1 ♡ ⋆｡˚

— pairing: nate jacobs x fem!reader

— type: ficlet (going to be multi-chapter)

— summary: nate asks you for private tutoring, using the excuse that no one can find out, due to who his father is—the über perfectionist & king of east highland. you agree, since you've tutored others, and do so through a school program, at that. as such, he'll be no different than the rest who've needed your help. as time goes on, though, and the gifts, phone calls, and texts begin to pile up, as well as him driving you to and from school, and his near-constant insistence on "hanging out", you wonder if nate ever really needed academic help in the first place., or if it was all a ruse for something more troubling to take place.

— tags: homework, studying, tutoring, nate lusting after/fantasizing about you & wanting to make you wholly his

— tw: misogyny, lying, dollification, sexualization

— word count: 4,144

— a/n: this is going to be part of a series, as indicated above. this post will serve as part 1. i promise it will get juicier going forward, i just needed to lay some groundwork for the reader & nate.

After McKay's party and Maddy's fucking another guy in his pool for all to see—completely humiliating and emasculating him—Nate was done with her. No, beyond done. He'd wasted how much time, money, and effort on her? All for her to turn out to be the whore he'd always known her to be.

She was always too loud. Too attention-seeking. Too selfish and spoiled. The kind of girl who used the excuse of being "brutally honest" and a refusal to "take any shit" just to be a bitch to whoever she pleased. And she always got away with it, too.

Well, not this time. Not with him. She was going to learn what being on her own finally felt like.

Besides, she'd never been his type. Not really.

She was nice to look at, sure, and he'd thought her loyal. How fucking stupid he'd been to do so. But that was all she'd had going for her in the end.

And then there had been Cassie—one of the biggest mistakes he'd ever made had been hooking up with her. He'd thought her different than who she turned out to be. She pretended to be so pure and wide-eyed, when in reality she was fucking psychotic and obsessed with him. He couldn't stomach that level of desperation from a girl.

The night she had completely lost it in his bedroom, screaming about how "crazy" she was had been the last straw.

And the fact she'd so easily betrayed Maddy? Who knew how long before she did the same to him. That was the last thing he needed to worry about.

Nate leans back, barely paying attention to what Ms. Clark is teaching the class at-present. His attention is instead focused on you.

You, who's been there since Nate was five-years-old and in kindergarten. You, who's always been quiet and soft-spoken, reserved and smart, sweet and shy, and who has no reputation whatsoever to speak of—he'd even gone so far as to check for you on SlutPages, and you'd been, unsurprisingly, nowhere to be found. You were the very definition of innocent.

You, who didn't dress like a slut or go out of your way to get attention. Hell, you didn't even go to parties or football games. Not that he'd ever seen you at either, at least.

He may've looked for you in the stands last Friday night, for whatever reason, despite knowing you wouldn't be there. But he had hoped, even for a moment.

Personality-wise? You were perfect for him. Exactly what he needed; had needed all along. He could kick himself for not seeing it sooner. But better late than never that he did so now.

The way you dressed? He wasn't sure how he felt about it. It suited you well-enough, sure, but he liked to imagine you in cute babydoll dresses, with your hair down and softly curled, a pair of ballet flats on your feet, as opposed to your usual sweaters or blouses, with plaid or high-waisted skirts, your hair typically in a high-ponytail or bun.

He saw your potential, your beauty. Your potential beauty, even.

He knew he needed an excuse to talk to you again after all these years, as he couldn't remember the last time he'd done so—the beginning of middle-school perhaps? He knew you tutored, so he chose the subject you seemed most passionate about—history—and his plan was set.

He spends the remainder of class watching and admiring you. Your delicate handwriting, the soft look in your eyes, your dainty hands, slim shoulders, and your perfect posture. He becomes so engrossed that he jolts when the bell rings, signaling the end of class, ripped from his daydreams of walking down the halls, your hand in his, soft feminine dresses hanging from your frame, your hair falling in soft waves down your back as every guy sees that you're his now.

As every guy realizes that they can look, but never touch, as he presses kiss after kiss to your pink lips, your soft body pressed between his and the lockers, you quietly giggling as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear as he walks you to your next class.

Ever-polite, you wait until nearly everyone else has rushed out of the classroom before you follow suit.

Nate's already standing behind you and notes how cute it is—your complete obliviousness to his presence. It was refreshing, actually, for a girl not to be throwing herself at him for once.

"Y/N," he says, softly.

You jump, nearly dropping your books. Before you can speak, wondering why he's wanting your attention in the first place—as the two of you never speak—he reaches out, gently taking your books from your arms. He then nods his head toward the door. "I'll walk you to your locker. There's something I'd like to talk to you about."

Completely bewildered, you simply head in the direction of the door and go to your locker. You fumble with the dial for a moment, screwing up the combination the first time, but thankfully getting it on the second.

You take your books from him, placing them all back where they belong before turning to him. "Thank you"

He immediately likes how polite you are. "Welcome," he replies.

As you ready your materials for your next class, you speak again. "So, what did you want to talk about?"

He leans his side against the locker next to yours. How had he never noticed that you were just a few rows down from his own before?

"Before I tell you, I need you to promise me it stays between us. I don't want other people finding out."

It was both a truth and a lie. The lie being that it was, more than anything else, a test. A test to see if even this early on, you'd simply make yourself agreeable to him, if you'd keep a secret simply because he asked you to.

He wants to know how much you'll prod before just caving and giving him what he wants.

You look at him, then. "I..." You trail off for a moment. The first time he speaks to you in how many years and that's the first thing he says to you?

He smirks in understanding of your hesitation. "It's nothing bad, I promise. I'm not about to ask you to hold drugs for me or something."

A bit of reassurance—that much he could offer without issue.

"Okay, I promise."

He fills with satisfaction. Already he can tell you're easily submissive. He hopes for as much, at least.

"I'm uh...I'm not doing too well in history. I got a D on the last test, and I'm close to failing the class as a whole. I was wondering if you'd be willing to tutor me?"

You turn fully toward him, then, filling with understanding. He's ashamed.

You give him a kind, sympathetic look and he adores you all the more for it.

"You don't need to be embarrassed about asking for help, Nate. It's why the school has a tutoring program. You're doing the right thing for yourself." You remove a flyer for said program from your locker, placing your heart-shaped magnet back where it goes. "Here, there's a list of resources and tutors for—"

He immediately cuts you off, shaking his head, placing the flyer back under that same magnet. Because of course you have pastel-colored magnets of hearts and clouds and flowers on the inside of your locker.

He looks at you. "I asked you for a reason. It needs to be kept a secret for a reason. I mean, you know who my dad is: King-Asshole-of-East-Highland. If he found out that I'm almost failing one of my classes, and much more asking for outside help, instead of just taking care of the problem myself..."

He shakes his head again, hoping the my-dad-is-too-tough-on-me-and-expects-nothing-less-than-perfection routine has worked.

You shift from one foot to the other, unable to understand how anyone could see their child taking the steps to actually get help as a bad thing, as a failing, or short-coming. But Cal Jacobs did seem to be nothing if not perfect. Perfect image, perfect job, perfect business, family, home—you name it.

"Why me?" You ask, genuinely curious. There's a whole roster of tutors signed up with the school, not to mention a couple teachers who also offer academic help after-hours a few times a week.

"I've known you my entire life. I trust you to keep this just between the two of us."

Simple enough answer, you think.

You close your locker then. "What subject?"

"History."

Your favorite one, at least. You'd never been the best at math. Had he said it instead, he'd be finding someone else, whether he liked it or not. You'd just get him worse grades in the end, if nothing else.

"Ok, we could um...we could meet at the library. They have study rooms for—"

He interrupts you again. "No, it needs to be your place, if that's ok. I don't want to risk anyone seeing me getting help in public."

Once again, a truth and a lie. More than anything he just wanted—no, needed—to get you alone and all to himself.

"Oh." You hesitate for a moment, but don't really have an excuse as to why you can't do it at your house. So, you relent. "That's fine, I guess. When did you want to start?"

"Today, if that's cool with you."

That soon, you think.

You nod. "Today is fine." Your brows furrow. "Do you know where I live? If not, I could give you my address?"

He smirks. "Or I could just drive us there. I have my truck. You won't have to take the bus."

Won't that arouse suspicion among his friends? The two of you suddenly being seen together? "Your friends won't ask questions?"

He'd not thought of that. Stupid. He simply shrugs, pretending not to care. "If they do, I'll just tell them to mind their own business."

You raise a brow for a moment, doubting they will, but suppose it doesn't really matter to you either way. It's his secret that he's desperate to keep, not yours.

The bell rings, letting you know you have two minutes to get to your next class. "Ok, I'll see you after school then."

"See you then," he replies with a smile.

Once school has let out for the day, you nearly go to get on the bus, then remember just before walking up the first step, that you're being driven home by Nate today.

It's strange to think about: you, with Nate Jacobs, in his truck.

Even when you were little the two of you had never exactly been friends. But you suppose that can always change. Not that you're sure that you want it to.

It seems like wherever Nate goes, drama follows. First with Maddy and whatever had happened weeks ago at McKay's party. Something had happened the night of the fair—something bad—but no one would talk about it. And then he'd apparently gotten with Cassie, which was...a recipe for disaster, to put it plainly.

You don't like drama. Don't like the people who seem to thrive on it. And he certainly seems to be one of them. Someone who's always in the middle of it, at least.

Then you tell yourself you're just being silly. You're going to be tutoring him, that's all. You doubt it will ever even build up to friendship.

Once you've made it into the parking lot proper, you begin to scan it, looking down row after row of vehicles until you see Nate watching you, a smirk on his face as he leans back against the front of his Dodge pickup.

You wait as a car passes, then finally come to stand in front of him, suddenly feeling nervous.

"You ready?" He asks.

As he looks down at you, you only just now realize how much of a disparity there is between your heights. You look up at his towering form, suddenly incredibly self-conscious of how short you are. Somehow it makes you feel childlike...

Meanwhile, Nate absolutely eats it up. It'd be all too easy to toss you around on a bed like a ragdoll, he thinks.

Finally, you nod.

You both walk around to the passenger side, but before you can ask him—your brows now furrowed—what he's doing, he opens the door for you to get in. "Oh, thank you," you say, climbing into the oversized truck.

Who needs vehicles these big...

"Welcome," he says, shutting the door.

As you buckle yourself in, setting your backpack at your feet, you watch as he walks around the front of the truck to get in and internally cringe, wanting to try and climb down into the floorboards to hide, when you see Cassie staring directly at you. If looks could kill, you would've been dead instantly.

You want to get out and tell her it's not what she thinks it is, but you're broken from your staring straight back at her when Nate closes his door and the truck revs to life. After buckling himself in, he looks at you, noticing you've now gone pale.

No way you considered him opening your door as him having already gone too far.

"Everything okay?"

You look at him. "Cassie is staring at us. I think she might think that we're-"

He puts the truck into gear, pulling out of the lot. "Who gives a damn what she thinks."

Once the two of you are on the road, you clear your throat. "Do you know where I live?"

In truth, he doesn't. "No, sorry, you'll have to give me directions."

And you do, until, finally, he pulls into your front driveway.

You're not sure why your stomach is full of butterflies. Perhaps because no one comes over to your house. Ever. You're almost always here alone. Your dad is the only parent you have left—your mother having signed over full-custody of you to him when you were too young to even remember her, and he's always away for work—so hosting company isn't exactly a regular thing.

The house is clean, and you'd also recently been grocery shopping, so it isn't as if you have anything to worry about.

The two of you exit his truck and you make your way to the front door, quickly unlocking it.

Once you've both entered the house, you watch nervously as he takes in the living room.

Your house isn't anything special. It has all the necessities for living and comfort, but it isn't like something out of a magazine.

You tell yourself you're fine with that.

You silently slip off your shoes and Nate does the same, following your lead. You then step onto the plush carpet and turn back to him, still standing before the door. "I'm going to go change and then we can start. The dining room is this way," you say, nodding your head to the right.

You walk through the entryway, into the aforementioned room. You set your backpack down on a chair, then walk straight ahead, through the kitchen, and into your bedroom around the corner.

It's only a moment, but while you change, Nate snoops.

He notices how little your house seems to be lived-in. How neat and tidy and damn-near spotless it is.

And that the two of you are alone.

He silently unzips your backpack, quickly rifling through it. A couple textbooks, some fantasy novel, and your binder. He wants to go through every folder, but refrains, knowing he doesn't have the time and it's too big of a risk. He's fairly certain he won't find anything interesting in it anyway.

Finally, he sits, pulling his history book and tonight's homework out of his own.

When you finally enter the dining room again, Nate looks up. He isn't sure what kind of outfit he'd been expecting, but sweatpants and a light-purple t-shirt hadn't been it.

He wishes you'd worn something that shows off the beautiful body you have instead. Not...that.

He mentally shrugs. You're in your home, trying to be comfortable. He actually really likes that you hadn't put on something meant to impress him.

You aren't fake. Another thing he really likes about you. Not that he's making a mental checklist, or anything.

He sees you eye the other side of the table, but before you can take another step toward it, he pushes out the chair next to him with his foot.

You stop for a moment, then decide sitting next to him is fine, too. So you take the seat he's offered you and notice he's already pulled out his history book and the worksheet you'd both been given for homework as well.

You'd already done yours during your free period.

You slide the book over to yourself and flip it open to the chapter your class is currently working through.

"You're in luck, because the period of history we're going over right now is actually my favorite."

He rests an arm on the wooden dining table, turning toward you. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

You raise a brow. "You don't even know what time period we're working through?" You ask with a smile.

He grins in response. "To be completely honest, I don't really give a shit about history. I know, I know. The whole, if you forget, you're going to repeat it shit. I guess I just don't believe any of that."

"I don't think it's that serious. But if you hope to pass and get past junior year, having the credit for this core class is imperative. And it's the Dark Ages, by the way. Also known as the medieval period."

He snickers. "Imperative, huh?"

You withdraw into yourself. He's making fun of you.

He quickly notices the smile disappear from your face and realizes how he'd sounded. "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to mock you. It's just... Nobody talks the way you do. Not at East Highland, at least."

You pretend to take interest in the book sitting before you. "And what way is that?"

"I don't know. Intelligently, I guess." He says it with a shrug.

You give a small smile at that, and he knows he's off the hook.

He sets the worksheet Ms. Clark has given for homework between the two of you.

"Do you know all of this?"

You look at him and nod. "I already got mine done."

"Of course you did. So," he looks down at it. "What is the name of the English civil war fought between the years of 1455-1487?"

He looks at you then.

You glance down to the book. "I don't know, what was the name of it?"

He shakes his head, a playful look on his face as he begins to skim through the pages. He looks up to you, then. "I could just Google all of this."

You lean back in your seat. "You could. But the point of reading the material and studying it, is so you have a chance of actually remembering it when there's a test. Hopefully for even longer, like, once you've graduated as well."

He shrugs again. "It's not all bad, I guess. Also gives me an excuse to talk to you."

He was putting his motives right out in the open now. But instead of you seeing this study session, this request for tutoring as exactly that—a motive to get close to you and make you his—you blush.

You don't know what to say in response, so you just give him the answer. "It's the War of the Roses."

He stares at you for a moment longer, then writes down what you've said.

He leans back. "So, why is this your favorite period of history?"

You look at him. "I guess the romanticism of it, even if it wasn't an entirely romantic time period. Civil war, the plague, men beheading their wives... Did you know most high-fantasy takes its inspiration from medieval Europe?"

He shakes his head, content to continue listening to you talk about something you're passionate about. He likes the way you light up when you do so.

You grow quiet. "Sorry, that sounded stupid."

He shakes his head, resting his arm on the back of your seat. "I don't think so. I may not care for history, but I think it's sweet that you do. I mean, I'm into football. But I'm sure that, just because you're not into it, you'd never call me being on the team stupid."

You look at him. "No, I wouldn't."

He looks over the next question. "Have you ever been to any of our games?"

You shake your head. "Sports aren't really my thing."

"Not everybody comes for the actual game. Some just come to have a good time; get out of the house." He looks at you. "We have another game next Friday. Think you'd be interested?"

He can just imagine it now: you in the stands, your hair in pigtails, wearing one of his old jerseys, cheering him on. And then you running into his arms as he scores the winning touchdown, wrapping your legs around his middle as he lifts you, you bringing your lips down to his.

You telling him how proud you are of him.

You shrug, now feeling awkward at wanting to tell him no. So you don't. "Maybe."

Better than a no, he thinks. He has nearly two-weeks to convince you into a yes.

Once Nate has completed his worksheet and you've checked it for any wrong answers—he'd surprisingly only had a couple—he packs up his things to head home.

You walk him to the door. "You did really good today. Only two wrong answers."

He slips on his shoes. "Well, I have a good teacher."

You smile, letting out a small laugh. "We'll see just how good after our next test."

He clears his throat. "So uh, I was thinking, maybe I could pick you up tomorrow morning? I could start driving you to and from school as a whole. I'm sure my truck beats riding a bus twice every day."

You blanch. "N-no, it's fine, really. I don't mind. And not that you have to continue doing it, but driving me home is more than enough. I don't want to be any trouble."

He shakes his head. "No trouble. It's on my way, really. I'd like to."

He dislikes your hesitancy, even if he understands it. He knows he's coming on too strong right now, but he feels like he can't fucking help himself.

After sitting there with you for the past hour, listening to your voice, smelling your sweet scent, you blushing and laughing at the things he said—not to mention him having to excuse himself to the bathroom at one point to get the erection you'd given him to go back down—he knew he needed more of you. Afternoon study sessions weren't going to be nearly enough.

He leans against the doorway, refusing to leave until you've given him what he wants—how little do you know that's soon to be your future as a whole. Him not stopping until you've caved to him. "Listen, I'm the one who's the burden here. I know tutoring is a thing you do anyway, but not like this. I really appreciate it; you have no idea how much. This is just some small way of me trying to say thank you. Of trying to repay you."

You shift from one foot to the other. "Only if you're sure..."

"Positive."

He fishes his phone out of his pocket. "We should probably exchange numbers, just incase something comes up one morning and one of us is sick, or a I get a flat, or whatever. Or if one of us has to leave school early."

You nod. "Ok."

After you give him your number, he shoots you a text. A simple 'hi'.

You smile at him. "I got it."

He puts his phone back away, determining that today was full of small victories, bringing him a step closer to making you his. "I can pick you up a little after seven. That work for you?"

You nod, your stomach now full of butterflies again. Not because of some crush you'd suddenly developed in the last hour. No. You were worried about vile rumors being spread around the school.

You getting into his truck today, you were sure, had probably already bred one or two of the vicious things.

What the hell have you gotten yourself into?

You nod. "That's fine."

He gives you a smile. "See you then."

"See you," you reply as he leaves.

You watch from the front door as he drives away.

#fic: euphoria (nate jacobs x reader)#nate jacobs x reader #nate jacobs x you #nate jacobs x y/n #euphoria x reader #nate jacobs imagine

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annwrites · 5 days

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far cry 5 masterlist

jacob seed

jacob taking your virginity in a field of bliss

#masterlist: far cry v

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annwrites · 5 days

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finding bliss in the bliss *.✧

— pairing: jacob seed x fem!reader

— type: ficlet

— summary: jacob seed takes your virginity in a field of bliss

— tags: porn w/o plot tbh

— tw: sex, loss of virginity, drugging, fingering, cussing, dubcon (reader asks about protection, but jacob makes the decision for them both to bareback it)

— word count: 4,544

— a/n: well, this ended up being way longer than i initially expected it to be lol. i hope i kept him in-character!

(this scene was initially going to be used in a much larger fic where the the reader (originally an oc) meets john first during one of joseph's sermons that she went to out of curiosity & generally feeling lost/alone in life. she eventually is taken in by john/eden's gate, bc john has been having dreams about her, & believes she's his soulmate. but bc he knows jacob needs someone good in his life as well, he has her go stay with him at his cabin in the whitetails as he "works" on his silo sometimes, so that she's kept safe while he's away from the ranch. in reality, he's hoping they'll connect & also fall in love. & they do and they're all a happy throuple. but this scene initially ended with jacob trying to pull his cock out of his boxers & she freezes, telling him she wants john to be her first & he gets super hurt & upset about it.) anyway!

You swear, that the more you walk, the more you can hear a faint humming sound coming from up ahead. Once the two of you break through the trees, you see where it'd been coming from. Before you is a massive field of flowers, moths flitting along them, and behind the field is a row of greenhouses, to the right of them a huge marble-and-stone building.

You look to Jacob. "Where are we?"

He nods his head toward the large building. "That's the factory where we make all our bliss. And while there's plenty of others throughout the region, this is the largest field of it that we have."

You balk. So you're both standing before a giant field of hallucinogens.

"W-Why did you bring me here?"

He looks down to you, his hands in his pockets. "You were the one who was curious."

Your brows furrow. "I expressed that curiosity in the truck—meaning you were already headed this way."

"No, originally I was going to take you to Sabre-Tooth Springs. We're just making a detour right now."

He steps away from you then, walking closer to the field.

You panic. "Jacob," you nearly yell his name.

He turns back to you, one brow raised. "You wanted to know what it was like."

"I didn't think I'd be finding out tonight..."

He doesn't respond.

You take a small step closer to him. "What if...what if I have a bad trip?"

He determines it a small victory that you're not going to fight him on this experience, but, rather, are willing to let it happen.

He steps back over to you, his broad form towering over your own. He nearly smirks at how small you are compared to him. So vulnerable...

"I'll be right here the entire time. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

You glance to the alluring field of flowers, illuminated only by the moon above and the lights from the greenhouses in the back, then back to the large man before you.

"Do you really think my first time doing it...it being in a field of it, is a good idea?"

He shrugs. "No one's ever had a better one."

You nearly roll your eyes as he turns away from you. You quickly reach out, gripping his right hand in your left and his head jerks in your direction at the sudden contact.

You look up to him with wide eyes. "Can...can I hold your hand?"

Your own is shaking, he notes.

He nods.

You take a deep breath, then another as you step closer and closer, until, finally, you're at the beginning of a path, which leads down the middle of the garden.

You grip his hand tighter as the two of you begin down it, your head quickly beginning to spin as you breathe in the strong-smelling flowers which surround you. Your other hand comes up to wrap around his arm, sparkles filling your vision. "I feel so dizzy. Light-headed." You look around you, your vision swimming, heart now pounding. "Everything looks funny. I don't like this."

He drags you along, further in, cutting across the path until you're completely surrounded by the angel's trumpet flowers. "Just relax. Everything you're feeling is completely normal."

You shake your head, trying to center yourself, but it causes the entire world to spin instead, so you press your forehead against Jacob's upper-arm, desperately wanting it to stop.

"Here, just sit down and ride it out."

Ride it out? There was no riding it out, so long as you were sitting in a damn field of it.

Nevertheless, you do as you're told, taking a seat beside him, swaying side-to-side as you watch the world around you ebb and flow, as if you were underwater.

"Hey, look at me," Jacob says as he gently places his index finger under your chin, turning your face in his direction, causing your vision to fill with small silver sparkles again.

"Yeah, your pupils are blown."

Your heart jumps and you swallow nervously as you reach up to your face. "Is that bad?" You ask with a whimper.

He smirks. "No, just means it's working."

You wonder what he means by that, but find yourself completely unable to concentrate long enough to try and figure it out.

"Lie back."

You do, closing your eyes, willing yourself to calm down. Wait—hadn't he said it helped do just that? No. That happened when you found the correct dosage, which this most certainly was not.

They smelled so lovely, though...

Finally, when you open your eyes, you notice that Jacob is now leaning against his left arm, looking down at you. "How do you feel?"

You blink up at him. "Warm."

"So take a layer off."

You giggle, then cover your mouth, wondering where the hell that had come from. You lower your arms back down to your sides. "Are you trying to get me to take my clothes off?"

His brow raises. "You're wearing a hoodie."

You flush. "Oh. Right."

You unzip it and Jacob's eyes darken when he notices you're not wearing a bra beneath your thin t-shirt, but you don't see his reaction as you sit up long enough to slip the article of clothing off, lying it beside you before you lie back down again.

"Better?" He asks.

You look up at him again, suddenly feeling warm all over. Was that a normal reaction?

"No, still warm."

His jaw flexes, then, "So take something else off."

Normally, you know you would be beyond upset at such a suggestion, would make a scene over it. Would never do it, but you simply...don't care in this moment. You feel a way you never have before. Calm, euphoric. Happy.

So you sit up again and grip your t-shirt at the hem, lifting it up over your head and Jacob watches, his face betraying nothing as he takes in your now-naked breasts.

You lie down yet again and giggle, covering your shapely breasts with your hands. "I'm naked."

"Not technically." He replies, his tone completely serious.

"How are you not...do you not feel as good as I do right now?" When you speak, your voice sounds little like your own now. It's playful, lilted, breathy... Alluring.

His jaw twitches. “Let's just say I've developed a bit of an immunity to it.”

You wonder how that's even possible. How much of it someone would have to do to even achieve that. But because it's him—Mister Always-in-Control—you're not surprised by this fact.

You reach down to the waistband of your sweatpants and begin to wiggle out of them, not even caring as your underwear goes with them.

You look up to Jacob then, and his gaze is trained solely on your face now.

“Now I am.” You say, your entire body warm, a flush spreading lower than just your face, but to your neck and breasts as well.

He simply replies with a “Mhm.”

You laugh at him, then mimic his serious disposition by pursing your lips and furrowing your brow. “So serious.”

You close your eyes again and breathe deeply, heat now pooling between your thighs.

Jacob, while your eyes are shut, uses the moment to take you all in. Your breasts, your soft stomach, your round hips and supple thighs, and your sex between your legs.

When he looks back to your comely face, your wide eyes are open and watching him.

Before he can think or do anything, you're on top of him—straddling him—your legs bent at the knee on either side of his waist as you come down to rest directly over his throbbing erection, which strains painfully beneath his jeans.

He leans back on both his elbows as you rest each of your arms on either of his shoulders, your breasts nearly in his face.

"The hell are you doing?"

You shrug, feeling unusually bold. Obviously. Or you wouldn't naked, on top of Jacob Seed, in a field of psychedelic flowers right now. "Not sure yet." You giggle again, running your fingers through his hair.

"You're a naughty little thing, aren't you?"

You feel your core heat at that. "Not usually."

His lips twitch. "I'm aware. Had I known all it would take to bring your walls down would be some bliss, I would've brought you down here days ago."

You scoot a bit closer, your chest nearly against his and he groans at the sensation as his cock twitches underneath you.

"Why?"

He's broken from thoughts of fucking you senseless for teasing him like this. "Why what?"

"You've barely spoken to me for the past week, not that you're ever home, so why do you care about my walls?"

His cock hardens at you talking about walls, him wondering what the ones between your legs would feel like clenching around him. He doubts you could take all of him anyway.

"Does that upset you, me not paying attention to you, sweetheart?" He asks in a mocking tone.

Normally, you'd fill with embarrassment or shame. But right now? You simply shrug.

"Is that why you're naked and on top of me? Because you don't need my attention?" He asks, thinking he finally has the upper hand. How wrong he is...

You grind down against his erection and sigh. "Mm, actually I want this."

He raises a brow. "To dry hump me?"

He could give you a lot more than that, you need only ask. But he wasn't about to admit as much.

You hesitate for a moment, then nod.

He glances down to where your sex is already making a wet spot on his jeans, directly over his cock. He then looks back up to you, eyes hooded. "Go on, then."

It's all the encouragement you need before you reposition herself overtop of his left leg instead. He lowers it until it's flat on the ground, and then you do exactly what he said. You rub yourself against the leg of his pants, your head thrown back in ecstasy, your eyes closed, lips slightly parted.

For awhile, Jacob simply watches you, arms behind his head, content to let you do this all night if that's what you want.

Then, Jacob sits up for a moment, reaching behind you to slip the band around your ponytail free and your hair falls in soft waves down your back. Her briefly considers how it would feel wrapped around his fist.

You don't stop your ministrations for a moment, continuing to whimper and sigh and moan as you take what you want, perhaps need.

Finally, you opens your eyes and Jacob sits up a bit. You wrap your arms back around his neck again and crush your lips to his.

You open your mouth, moaning into his own over and over. God, you'd never felt so good, so free, so alive before. You understood why people took bliss now. Who wouldn't want to feel like this forever? You could get lost in it. Wanted to.

He flicks his tongue against yours , then brings his rough, calloused palms to rub up and down her bare back and you shiver, gasping against his lips at the heightened sensation.

Then, he grips your hips as you continue to ride him, wishing he could get some fucking relief himself. He wasn't usually this generous, in that, if he was with a woman, they were both getting theirs. Not just one of them.

You begin to ride his leg faster then, your breath coming in soft, short pants. He suddenly flips you onto your back "Oh no you don't."

Your eyes shoot open, as well as your mouth, but before you can speak a word of protest, Jacob is lying on his side, leaning against his left arm as he spreads both of your legs with his right, then reaches between them with that same hand, running his index and middle fingers between her soaking folds before plunging them inside of you.

You gasp at the unexpected gesture, then throw your head back against the ground.

Jacob brings his other arm to press down on the lower portion of your stomach as his fingers frantically fuck you, barely allowing you to catch your breath.

You bring your right arm up to grip his jacket, unable to so much as speak, only able to make the most embarrassing noises—which included those coming from between your thighs...

Jacob suddenly curves his fingers upward and you moan his name in response, causing him to smirk in satisfaction before easing yet another finger inside of you.

It doesn't take but a few minutes more before you finish, his palm covered in you as your back arches and you spread your legs wider. Sparks explode against your eyelids, your entire being set ablaze, your cunt contracting wildly against him.

He doesn't even bother stopping, until your hand comes down to grip his wrist. "Please," you whisper, trying to catch your breath, trying to calm your pounding heart.

His movements cease and he removes his fingers from inside you and you watch as he immediately places them in his mouth, your eyes going wide as he sucks your juices from them.

Only once he's cleaned them does he settle his arm over one of her lowered thighs. "Do you have any idea how fucking good you taste?"

You open and close your mouth like some stupid, gaping fish, before closing it and opting to simply shake your head.

He runs two of his fingers between your hot, dripping folds and your body jerks in response before he brings them up to your lips. "Open."

You obey and he eases his fingers into your mouth and you suck on them before he removes them a few seconds later. You don't find there to be anything extraordinary about how you taste, but perhaps he had a different palate than you.

You then decide that you sound ridiculous, and have no idea what you're even on about.

"So, did you get what you needed? Or do you need to go again?"

You're surprised he's offering you a second orgasm. But pleased he is nonetheless. The first had been...unlike anything you'd ever felt before. Had been mind-bending. Your entire body had been at his mercy.

You look at him shyly. "Maybe."

He brushes one of his calloused thumbs over your nipple. "Oh yeah?" He says with mild interest before gazing at you.

You spread your legs again, nodding. "Mhm."

He sighs. "What am I going to do with you?"

You bite your lip. "Whatever you want."

He shakes his head, chuckling. "Don't tell me that or I'll fuck you within an inch of your life."

You still, somewhat wishing he would.

Then, you climb back on top of him again. He leans back like before. "What are you up to now, darlin'?"

You unbuckle his belt and his hand shoots out to grip your wrist in an iron clasp.

You look up to him, your heart pounding wildly with excitement.

"You sure about this?" He has no condoms on him and he wasn't about to even consider the pullout method. When he came, it would be deep—with his cock buried as far inside of you as he can get it—every drop of his cum filling you. And if your coupling resulted in something...more...he'd deal with that then.

All he could think was everything he wanted to do to you right now. Consequences be fucking damned.

You look at him, a smile playing on your lips. "Trust me."

Him trusting you wasn't the problem right now. Sure, bliss no longer had the effect on him that it once did, but there was still an impact on his body when he got near it. And being here with you like this in a field of it? He was liable to lose control once he was finally inside of you.

Once you have his belt fully undone, you then unbutton and unzip his pants and you kneel next to him and he lifts his hips as you slide them down to his ankles.

Before he can toe off his boots, wanting to fuck you completely bare, you've climbed back into his lap and are reaching for his erection over his boxers. You stroke him a few times before rubbing the tip of him against your cunt.

He looks at you in confusion. "What're you doing?"

You continue rubbing him against you and his cock twitches—once, twice—and he wants nothing more in all the fucking world than to finally sheathe himself inside of you.

"Are you trying to be a cock tease?" He asks, irritation lacing his voice.

You give him a mischievous grin and shrug before rolling your head to the side, your hair coming to slip over the front of your shoulder.

Jacob sits up, his chest pressed against yours and you wrap your arms around his neck then. He relaxes some. You'd just been trying to ready yourself, that was all. He reaches under you and starts trying to pull his boxers lower, trying to free his erection, but you still and pull away, looking down.

"I..."

He stops. "What?"

If you were about to ask 'what about a condom', so help him God almighty above...

"I've never..." You trail off.

Realization dawns on him. You were a fucking virgin. Even if you sure as hell were not acting like one right now.

"You're still a virgin, sweetheart?"

You nod, suddenly embarrassed.

He squeezes both of your hips firmly in his rough hands. "You want to fix that tonight?"

You just stare at him, running your fingers nervously through his hair.

He moves his hands lower, gripping your ass. "Hm? Would you like that?"

Your cunt was throbbing between your legs and you were so wet that you were dripping. All you could think about was all the things he might do to you if you said yes.

Why had you been waiting again? With your head so light and fuzzy, you couldn't remember anymore.

Finally, you nod.

He gently sets you to the side and you watch as he unlaces his boots, then tugs off his jeans the rest of the way. He then pulls his shirt off over his head and you feel a pang in your chest at the scars littering his abdomen. What had happened to him?

Your feeling sorry for him is cut short, however, when he pulls his boxers off, freeing his erection.

Oh God. It'd never fit. Never ever.

He gently grips your hips in his hands again and you sit back on his thighs and gingerly take his erection in your hands, holding it up against your stomach. It came up above your navel.

Jacob could nearly laugh from the terrified look on your face.

"Something the matter, honey?"

"It's too big," you look up to him, eyes wide and full of innocence. "It's not going to fit."

It twitches in your grip and you nearly unhand him when it does so.

"Oh, I'll make it fit, baby. One way or another."

You look into his eyes again.

"So, you want to be on top, or should I?" He asks, his tone patient as you decided.

"I...I don't know."

He sits up, wrapping his arms around you, your hands still around his dripping erection. "You want me to decide then?" He grabs your ass again, squeezing. "Want me to do all the work and you just enjoy yourself?"

You nod, hesitantly.

He leans forward, trailing his lips, then his tongue along your neck and you let out an unexpected moan, making his hard cock twitch again. Once his lips are near the shell of your ear, he speaks. His voice is low, gravely, full of lust. "Lie back and spread your legs."

He quickly grabs his jacket, fanning it out and you lie back on it, doing as you were told, spreading your legs wide for him.

He kneels before you, resting back on his haunches as his hands first grip your breasts, massaging them, then he uses one of his hands to grip your hip, the other palm-face down, running between your breasts, down your stomach, finally coming to rest overtop of your sex.

"This what you want, darlin'?"

You watch as his cock bobs between his legs. You nod, silently.

He slowly eases two fingers inside of you and you grip the jacket beneath you.

"Oh, yeah, that's what you want. Nice and wet and ready for me, huh, baby?"

You bite your lip, whimpering as he teases you like you had teased him.

Your eyes pop open when he removes his fingers, now rubbing the tip of his cock against your entrance instead, slapping it gently against your pussy a few times.

"What about-"

"What about what, sweetheart?" He asks, brow raised in mock-interest at what you have to say.

"Protection."

"We don't need it," he states, pushing inside of you before you can protest.

The pain isn't as bad as you had imagined it would be. Perhaps some mild discomfort at first, but he gives you a moment to adjust to the size of him—you'd been stupid in thinking those first few inches would be it, though.

As he eases himself the rest of the way in, the feeling is unlike anything you'd ever felt before.

You'd fingered yourself before, even used the handle of a hairbrush a few times, watching with fascination as it bobbed inside of you as you clenched around it, but this...you'd never felt so completely filled.

Jacob lets out a low swear and you look up to him in worry, until he speaks. "You're so fucking tight, Jesus."

He looks down at you, where your bodies are now joined, his length completely hidden inside of you. You'd done far better at taking every inch of him than he'd previously anticipated. "That feel good, sweetheart? You like that?"

"I feel so...so full."

He smirks. "I bet."

He begins to rock his hips against yours, slowly, using every ounce of self-control not to just fuck you raw like he wants so desperately to do.

He lowers himself on top of you, one of his hands holding himself up, trying not to crush you. He uses his other to slide down your thigh, lifting it onto his back. He sinks impossibly deeper and curses.

He looks down at you as you wrap your other leg around his backside. "Do you know how good you feel like this?"

You shake your head, eyes now glazed over, face and breasts splotchy with a sex-flush.

"First one to be inside of this pretty little cunt, hm?"

If you weren't already pink and red all over, you'd flush from the words leaving his lips. "Y-yes."

He eases out and back into you a few more times, your cunt squelching from how wet you are. "Such a needy little pussy, isn't it? Bet it doesn't take much to get it soaked, does it?"

You shake your head, licking your lips. "It's kind of annoying, actually."

He chuckles. "Only for you. You have any idea how much use I'd get out of it if it belonged to me?"

You grow quiet, mortified at the way he was talking about your body, even if it turned you on all the more.

He crushes his lips against yours, using his tongue to tease you for a moment before pulling away, sitting up again, cock still firmly inside of you. He reaches down, brushing the pad of his thumb along your lower lip, before easing it into your mouth. "You look like you could use something to suck on, darlin'."

And so you do. You suck on his thumb, hollowing your cheeks, wrapping both of your hands around his, and he groans at the sight, imaging how his cock would feel in there. God, you were fucking perfect.

He rams his cock into you a few times and you just moan and sigh in pleasure.

He pulls out a few inches, admiring his glistening length, completely covered in you, and then he shoves it back in. You clench around him and take note of how he hisses at the sensation.

You do it a few more times, completely on purpose now and he curses, and not quietly. "Fuck, Y/N."

Eventually, he grips your hips again, rolling over so that you're on top and he begins to tug your hips forward, then back, trying to encourage you to ride him again. You start to do so, the feeling of him settled inside of you, feeling him moving with you...it's such an odd sensation, but it feels so good.

He lies back, reaching up, taking both of your breasts in his hands, fondling them as you rock your hips against his. He begins to tug against your nipples, gently pinching them and smirks when he feels you clench at the feeling.

"You like that, baby, that feel good?"

You nod fervently. "You're doing such a good job riding my cock, sweetheart. That's it." He grips your hips again, having you bounce on it. He throws it head back. "Fuck, just like that. God—fuck."

You settle both of your hands, palms face-down, on each of his pectorals, settling onto his cock again and then you begin to roughly buck your hips against him, riding him as hard as your body can manage.

So much for letting him do all the work...

He says your name over and over again, eyes closed, a curse escaping his lips every-other word.

He's gripping your hips and sides so hard you're sure he'll leave bruises, but you don't dare tell him to stop. Finally, he sits up, crushing you against him, his face buried in your breasts, taking one, then the other into his mouth, gently biting down and sucking on them as you continue to ride and ride, his breathing become more erratic, his hips bucking up into you, the tip of his cock plunging against your cervix.

"Fuck, baby, just like that. Good girl. Ride my fucking cock. Just like that, honey."

Finally, you climax, your walls clenching around him over and over again, the first time you'd come from anything other than clitoral stimulation.

Jacob quickly follows you over the edge, his cum shooting inside of you, hot and plentiful as he moans into your hair.

Once the two of you settle, coming down from your orgasms, he slowly eases you onto your back once more, removing his cock from you inch-by-inch, his cum spilling out of you, onto the ground.

"There's so much of it," you say, surprised, looking up to him, noticing his member was coated in it, sticky cum dripping from the tip still.

He smirks, looking between your spread legs where your cunt was now just a messy red hole—covered in him—needing to be filled again. "And there's plenty more, trust me."

#fic: far cry v (jacob seed x reader)#jacob seed x reader #jacob seed imagine #jacob seed x you #far cry 5 x reader #far cry 5 x you

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annwrites · 5 days

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dune masterlist

feyd-rautha harkonnen

feyd/twin oc | pt 1

#masterlist: dune

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annwrites · 5 days

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masterlist | ao3

dune

euphoria

fary cry v

hotd

twd

yellowstone

#masterlist

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annwrites · 5 days

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yellowstone masterlist

ryan

being protective after jimmy makes an inappropriate comment

#masterlist: yellowstone

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annwrites · 5 days

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hotd masterlist

larys strong

sitting on larys' lap as he feeds you during the royal hunt | s1 ep 3

sitting together during rhaenyra's betrothal celebration | s1 ep 5

#masterlist: hotd

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annwrites · 5 days

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twd masterlist

shane walsh

offering to take your virginity | s2 ; the farm

target practice | s2 ; the farm

#masterlist: twd

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annwrites · 5 days

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you missed training ※∴

— pairing: shane walsh x fem!reader

— type: ficlet

— summary: shane deems it time for you to have some private target practice lessons with him.

— tags: shane has horny thoughts about you, cuddling, shane actually giving a damn

— tw: guns, suicidal ideation, mentions of masturbation, eating

— word count: 4,773

— a/n: i know this fic references some past events between shane & the reader, but this is just one part of a series of posts i plan to write for shane. i do have another post up, which is about shane's "offer" to the reader (taking their virginity).

You shove a clothespin into place before picking up the next item—one of Andrea’s pairs of cargo pants—and jump when you feel a palm against your back, causing you to nearly drop the damp piece of clothing. You clutch it to your chest instead, thankful they won’t need to be rewashed.

You turn to your right where Shane is now standing, palm still firmly in-place against your backside.

“Yes?” You ask as you hang the pants. You then turn fully toward him, causing him to drop his hand.

“You missed training.”

You shrug, bending down to pick up a t-shirt, but he takes it from you, throwing it on the line without clothespins, just to get your attention back on him. “Can you just stop for a minute and look at me?”

You sigh, doing as he’s asked, crossing your arms.

“I asked you to come,” he says, clearly not pleased with you.

“There was work to do.”

He shakes his head, placing his hands on his hips, and you can tell his temper is nearly at its boiling point. Not that it isn't always anymore, it seems.

“That’s always your excuse. For everything. And I’m gettin’ tired of hearin’ it.”

You give him a none-too-pleased look at the attitude now lacing his tone, and go to pick up a pair of clothespins so the shirt can be properly hanged, and not risk being blown away by the wind, but he takes them from you, throwing them back into the basket before grabbing your hand in his and pulling you away from laundry duty.

“Shane-” You start, but he promptly interrupts you.

He turns back to you, your hand still held firmly within his calloused grip. “I am tired of askin’ nicely. This is important, and you’re going to learn whether you like it or not.”

You can feel your face growing warm, your pulse rising. You do not appreciate being made into just one more person he thinks he can boss around as he pleases. “I don’t need lessons.”

He gives you a look which says ‘yeah right’ before releasing your hand and pulling his pistol from its holster. He goes to hand it to you and you take it from him with caution. And don’t you dare think he doesn’t notice the fear with which you handle the weapon with.

“Alright, then. You know everything you need to know, then show me where the safety is.”

You look the sidearm over, looking for the right button, but look up to him in humiliation after a moment. You can’t even find it within yourself to tell him you don’t know.

He crosses his arms. “Show me how to eject the clip, then.”

Once again, you’re not sure which button will do what he’s asked for.

With an exasperated sigh, he takes the gun from you, tucking it back into its holster. “You want to tell me about how you don’t need training again?”

You shift from one foot to the other, refusing to answer.

“Not going to answer me now?”

You look up to him. Into his eyes which are searching yours. You shrug.

Shane hangs his head, shaking it. “Sweetheart, you want to explain to me why you’re so reluctant to learn a new way to defend yourself? A pretty important one?”

You look away from him, to those milling around the camp, talking and laughing amongst themselves. And then you look the other way, to an empty field. Tranquility, solitude. Peace.

“Learning self-defense means that I feel like I still have a life worth defending—worth living. That I feel like I’m worth defending.” You look at him then. “I don’t believe any of that.”

He lets out a low swear. “I thought we were past this.”

“You keep insisting on saving someone who doesn’t want to be saved, Shane. I never asked for you to bring me with you all from the quarry. Never asked for you to drag me out of the CDC. Never asked for you to help me on the highway. I made my choice over and over again and you refuse to accept that.”

He grimaces, his fists tightening at his sides. “Just because you think you’re not worth saving doesn’t mean everybody else has to think that. Because I don’t. Which I’ve proved time and again. You’re-” He rubs his hand over his head, settling it on his hip. “You’re one of the most valuable members of this group. You-”

You interrupt him with a laugh which has no humor behind it. “Valuable? Valuable how, Shane? By doing laundry? By helping make lunch and cleaning out the RV?”

He shakes his head. “It’s more than that and you know it. Just because you don’t see your self-worth doesn’t mean I don’t. Because I do.”

You continue to stare up at him, fighting against the tears threatening to overtake your vision. A tear slips from one of your eyes anyway and he reaches up, gently brushing it away with the pad of his thumb.

“I’m going to keep saving you until one day I don’t have to anymore. Because you’ve finally made the decision to live. So, are we going to go practice? Because if you tell me no, girl, I’ll just keep on your case about it until-”

“Ok.”

He shuts his mouth suddenly, a small grin gracing his lips. “Yeah?”

“I said ok.”

He jerks his head in the direction of the training area they’d set up some ways off from the house and camp. “C’mon then.”

He places his palm against the small of your back again, leading you away from camp.

The Georgia heat could be insufferable some days, but at least today was a bit cooler, even by a few degrees, with a slight breeze. The sun was low enough for the trees behind the training area to be casting long shadows, shielding you from the sun overhead.

Shane leads you over to a bit of fence that has a row of bottles set up beyond it, along with a couple of targets.

“Alright, here.” He stops you in the middle, the targets all directly beyond where you’re standing.

He removes the gun from its holster again. “This is your safety,” he says, flipping a small switch on the side, a red dot now visibile. He looks at you, and you at him. “Red means fire.” He flips the switch back.

“And this is how you release your clip.” He presses a button on the side and the bottom of the pistol comes out, a row of shiny bullets now visible. “It’s fully loaded.”

He pushes the clip back in.

“You know your stance?”

You shake your head, feeling more and more ignorant with every question he asks. You’d never had a reason to learn these things…before.

“I figured as much,” he says with a smile, coming to stand behind you.

He kicks your feet apart with his boot. “Move your right foot forward some—good, like that. Now, turn.” He grips your hips in both of his hands, firmly, turning your body just the least bit toward the fence. Shane then removes his gun from its holster and holds it out in front of you.

You take the grip in your hands, only just now noticing how heavy it is when you try to hold it up.

The barrel droops and he sighs. “Should’ve brought a lighter pistol, that’s my mistake.”

He reaches up, taking both of your hands in his, helping you hold it steady. “Alright, safety off.”

You find the small switch from earlier and push it down, that small red dot now visible.

“Chamber a round by pulling the slide back.”

You at least know that part, so you do as he instructs. “Good.” He presses his front against your backside, his body heat radiating onto you, causing a few small beads of sweat to form on the back of your neck.

“Make sure to keep your back straight, feet apart. And I want you to grip the gun firmly, but let it breathe. And don’t you ever put your finger on that trigger until you’re ready to fire and know what you’re firing at. You understand?”

You nod.

“Alright, close your left eye, find your target, and when you're ready, put your finger on the trigger and squeeze it slowly. Don’t just start firing off rounds at-will.” You hear a smirk in his voice as he continues “We’re saving that for the advanced course.”

“Given I pass this one,” you add, your tone nervous.

“You’ve got Officer Shane Walsh playin’ teacher to you now, darlin’. I’ll give you a pass.” He shrugs. “Once you’ve earned it.”

You don’t dare to think what he said might have some double-meaning to it.

“Alright, sweetheart. Deep breath, then when you’re ready.”

You take a deep breath, slowly let it out, then place your finger over the trigger, his hands still over yours. You squeeze slowly…and miss the bottle you were aiming at entirely.

You nearly curse. “I missed.”

“That was just your first try. You’ll get there.” He readjusts his hands. “We’ve got all day, baby. Just you and me.”

You feel sweat drip down your back. You tell yourself its from the heat. Not his body pressed firmly against yours. Not the pet names slipping so easily from his lips. And certainly not the fact that all of his attention was, at current, focused entirely on you.

He keeps his hands overtop of yours. "Try again, darlin'."

You close one eye, find the bottle you'd aimed at before and fire once again, hitting it this time and shattering it.

You smile. An actual genuine smile. And fill with a small sense of accomlishment.

Shane brings his lips close to your ear. "Good job, honey. Four more to go."

You could swear he presses a brief, light kiss to the side of your head, but brush it off as nothing.

You miss your next three shots—each attempt sloppier than the last and your cheeks feel like they're on fire. Whether from the warmth of his body nearly enveloping yours, the heat of the day, or the humiliation of having missed so many times, you're not sure.

But he'd not gotten aggravated with you yet. "Try again," he instructs softly.

"I-" you start, until he adjusts his stance behind you, briefly gripping one of your hips to fix your footing, causing you to go silent again as his hand skims your bare waist under your shirt.

"You say somethin', sweetheart?"

You shake your head. "I'm just having a hard time concentrating."

Your arms were resting in front of you now, the pistol lowered and gripped in each of your hands, the safety on.

"Somethin' you need to me to do?"

Take a step back and let me breathe, you want to say, but don't. It's impossible to concentrate with your hands all over my body, you consider, but keep your mouth shut. He was just trying to be a good teacher, that was all.

Somehow you doubted he had been this handsy with Patricia or Jimmy, though.

"Could we take a break, maybe?"

He comes to stand at your side. "We only just started. Tell you what, hit another bottle and we'll take a quick break. Can you do that for me?"

You don't answer. You simply raise the pistol again, but before you can even shut one of your eyes, he's pressed right back up against your backside, his arms and hands enveloping your own.

You sigh, squeeze the trigger, and somehow manage to get lucky.

As you take a brief pause, the two of you seated facing each other—both of you leaned back against opposing trees—you try to ignore his staring.

Eventually, he breaks the silence. "I'll get you a lighter gun when we get back. Think I know the one for you. Just...not sure if giving you a firearm is the best idea. Right now, at least"

You fidget with your hands in your lap. "Why? Because you think as soon as you hand it to me I'm going to stick it in my mouth?"

A muscle in his jaw feathers. "You said it, not me. But yes. Given your past...behavior, you can't blame me for bein' a bit paranoid."

You lean your head back, looking back to the three untouched bottles, mocking you across the way. Had you hit them, you wouldn't be having this conversation right now. "No, I guess I can't."

You don't see him shake his head. "Not even going to try and convince me otherwise?"

You look back to him. "I haven't exactly tried ending my life in incredibly direct ways thus far, Shane. I chose to stay at the quarry, you wouldn't allow that. I chose to stay at the CDC—same result. I collapse on the highway and you nursed me back to health. It's not like I was slitting my wrists or downing bottles of pills. It was more just...whatever happened happened."

"I just wish I knew how the hell to stop it."

The truth was...being here—at the farm—was actually helping. The wide open spaces that were free from walkers. The quiet, slow way of living. Having some sense of security with there being an actual house and barn nearby. Even meeting new people had lifted your spirits. But you were afraid to admit it out loud—that you felt small moments of happiness in this place every now and again. Because as soon as you did? It'd all be ripped away.

But you knew Shane was worried about you. A worry that grew with each day. So you cross your fingers—mentally knock on wood—before you tell him.

"Being here has helped. Being someplace so...untouched. I still have bad days and bad moments, but I feel better here. Lighter, somehow. I don't think about wandering off and ending it all like I did anymore. Now I just...I wish we could make a life here. All of us. But if you keep butting heads with Hershel that dream will end one day."

He studies you for a moment. "Think he's just living with his head in the clouds. Thinking those things aren't what they are. That help is coming. That we'll get past this and things will just return to normal before we know it."

"What does it hurt you to let him believe that? We all had hope like that at one time, too, incase you've forgotten. He hasn't seen what we've seen. Hasn't been through what we've been through. Just...put yourself in his shoes. Wouldn't you be just as blind?"

He shrugs. "Don't think I'd have my head that far in the damn sand."

You're both quiet again. You don't bother arguing further with him. He was stubborn—hard-headed as they came. Trying to make him see reason, or at the very least, another way, was futile more often than not.

"I'm happy to hear it, though. Relieved, really. That you feel better here. Guess we made the right decision by staying."

You flush. "I always wanted to live in a place like this. Quiet, with lots of land, and far away from everyone. Just...peaceful."

"Never did strike me as a city-girl," he says with a smirk.

You hum. "Hardly."

You lean back once again, closing your eyes, just enjoying the breeze blowing through the tall grass, and the birds signing overhead.

Meanwhile, Shane can't take his eyes off of you. Not your flushed face or full lips, your neck, the swell of your breasts under your t-shirt, your round hips, or legs.

He knew it hadn't been entirely necessary—him keeping himself pressed up against you during your first round of training, but the truth was he couldn't keep his damn hands off of you. You were just so damn soft and felt good to grip and touch and slide his hands along.

He'd been thankful you never seemed to notice the swell of his hard cock pressed up against your backside.

He'd not entirely tried to hide it.

He could feel that same erection returning as he admired your body, fantasized about what was underneath all those layers. He adjusts himself as he considers what you might sound like as he traces your curves with his tongue, what you might taste like cumming on it.

He liked to imagine how tight you would feel, clenching around him, milking his body of every last drop of cum he had to give.

Some time, late at night, weeks ago, he'd came—hard—and not with Lori's name on his lips, but yours, as he had his cock fisted tightly in his grip. He'd not even been expecting it, but it'd happened anyway—his thinking of you on your knees, his length in your wet mouth, wide innocent eyes staring up at him as he instructed you on what to do to please him.

After that night, all he did was fantasize about you. He hardly even considered her anymore.

It'd all started after you told him that damn wish of yours from your bucket list—wanting to lose your virginity before you died.

"You thought anymore about it?"

You'd nearly started drifting off to sleep when his voice had woken you. You look at him, a bit dazed and if anything, it turned him on all the more—he took no qualms with that idea. You lying there, limp and relaxed, legs spread for him as he did all the work to get you both off.

"What?" You ask, stretching.

He licks his lips at the sight of your midriff making a brief appearance before your shirt lowers again as you rest your hands in your lap.

"What we talked about a few nights ago on the porch."

You blanch, flushing. "Oh. That."

"Mhm, that. So, you thought about my offer?"

In truth, you had. Once, late at night, hand in your panties, coming away slick after you'd finished tending to yourself.

And then you'd filled with shame at what you'd done. Your family was gone—Sophia was missing, Carl had been shot and nearly died, even Otis, a member of Hershel's own family, had sacrificed himself to ensure the little boy made it.

The list went on and on. And that was what you had decided to use a bit of your spare time for?

Disgraceful. That was the best word you had for it. For yourself.

You shrug. "Not much."

His erection deflates, along with his ego. "Oh."

You look up to him and try to quickly salvage the situation. "It's not that I don't find you attractive, Shane. Of course I do. But like I said before, about Lori-"

He shakes his head. "That's done. Been done since Rick came back from the dead. She's moved on and so have I."

You raise a brow, not really believing him.

He sees the doubt in your expression. “Guess I’ll just have to prove myself to you, then.”

You cross your legs. “Why me, Shane? Why the sudden interest? Why not Andrea or Maggie or-”

He chuckles, glancing down to his lap, one of his thumbs rubbing against the palm of his other hand. He then looks back up to you and shrugs. “I think I’m just the type of guy who needs to feel needed. The two of them, as far as I can tell—at least for the most part—seem to be able to take care of themselves. You? Not so much. Not yet, at least. You need someone to look after you. Guess I appointed myself to that position without even really knowing it. Not at first, at least.”

So he saw you as a damsel in distress. Terrific. You weren’t sure whether you were supposed to feel offended or flattered about it.

“I’m not looking for a knight in shining armor to come save me, Shane. You don’t need to keep making me your problem. You have enough on your hands with-”

He leans his head back with an interrupting sigh. “We’ve had this conversation before. And it didn’t deter me then and it ain’t going to now. You’re not a problem, darlin’. I just want to be the solution, I guess.”

You can’t understand it, why someone like him—intelligent, reliable, with leadership skills, beyond good-looking, and above all a survivor—whatever the cost—has an interest in you. At all.

“What does that mean: be the solution?”

He shrugs, standing. He walks over to you, offering you his hand. “You tell me.”

It’d taken over an hour for you to break the last three bottles, as well as make decent progress firing at the targets. You tell yourself you would’ve gotten done sooner—would’ve done better—had his hands not been all over you again—Shane no longer bothering with ensuring he was touching you only over your clothes, as he’d gripped your bare hips more times than you could count.

And you didn’t want to acknowledge the hard length you’d felt pressed into your backside once or twice. You told yourself he must’ve had another pistol on him, or a knife perhaps. That was all.

More than once, just as you had your target lined up, he’d done something—touched you, whispered something in your ear, shifted his body against yours—causing you to miss entirely. You wondered if it wasn’t just his attempt at dragging your training out for even longer.

When he finally announces that you’re done for the day, you nearly cry from relief. Your arms were sore, as well as your legs from standing in-place for so long, and your head was pounding from how hard you’d been trying to focus on not just hitting your targets, but also responding correctly as Shane drilled you on various parts of the gun in your hands, as well as proper firearm etiquette.

You wondered if he took delight in making you feel flustered and frustrated.

When you finally make it back to camp, you’re thirsty, hungry, and want to take a nap. You begin to wander toward your tent, until you feel an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you in another direction.

“Oh no you don’t. You can sleep later. You didn’t bother with eating breakfast, so you’re having lunch, even if I have to hand-feed it to you.”

You look up to Shane and find you don’t have the energy to argue. He drops you off at the nearby picnic table, seated comfortably under a shady tree, and you watch as he steps away to prepare you something to eat.

You nearly laugh from the absurdity of him fixing you a plate for lunch—it seemed so domestic, especially since he was the one doing it—but you’re so tired that all you can manage is lying your head down, your eyes fluttering shut.

You fall asleep near-immediately. Until you’re woken by a plate being dropped in front of you.

“Eat.”

You lift your head, barely, and stare down at the two sandwiches before you, an apple on the side, and a bottle of water. You groan. “I’m tired, Shane.”

“Hand-feeding it is, I guess.”

He picks up a sandwich, which you promptly snatch away from him. “I can feed myself,” you state, taking a bite. Ham and cheese, you quickly figure out.

Shane sits with his legs on either side of the bench, his body facing you, watching as you eat.

You’re too tired to bother feeling self-conscious as you do so directly in front of him. You swallow, briefly glancing to him. “Thank you. For today.”

He nods, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, which had escaped your ponytail. “You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

He even goes so far as to press a kiss to your forehead. “You did good today, darlin’. I’m proud of you. You have no idea how much.”

You take another bite, smiling to yourself.

Once you’d finished eating—Shane refusing to let you leave the picnic table until you’d finished every last bite, as well as the whole bottle of water—he’d led you over to your tent, which you’d crawled inside of as soon as he opened the flap.

You briefly thought to yourself that the tent was the wrong color and that the interior looked strange, but you didn’t dwell on it too long. Once your head hit the pillow, you were out like a light.

When you wake, it’s in the middle of the night with the urge to pee.

You nearly scream in fear at the feeling of another body pressed up against your own, until you realize just who it belongs to.

Shane.

Why was he in your tent?

And then it dawns on you: you were in his. It’s why everything had seemed so off to you earlier before you laid down. He’d led you to his tent, and had put you to sleep in his bed.

He wasn’t being subtle about what he wanted anymore, clearly.

You didn’t know that you liked this sort of behavior. Him being so forward. Not even asking what you wanted.

Just deciding for you.

On the one hand, part of you just wants to let him—anyone—do all your thinking and decision-making for you. On the other, you were still sure that a part of him cared for Lori. Perhaps more than cared for her. Even if not, he frightened you sometimes. His fiery temper, his hard-headedness. And doing this…right in front of everyone—placing you in his bed in broad daylight—he was staking a claim. It was possessive. And that scared you a little.

You didn’t belong to him. You weren’t sure that you wanted to.

You didn’t wish to read too much into things—into this—but if that was what he wanted: to be with you… All you could think was if you opened yourself up to caring about another person again, you’d lose him just like all the rest.

But being alone hadn’t been easier, either. Closing yourself off emotionally from the rest of the group had lessened your will-to-live significantly. Contact with others was human nature; you were all social creatures. And keeping yourself from having such contact had deepened that well of sadness and loneliness inside of you.

A well you think maybe he’s trying to fill it, in his own way.

Shane had chosen the worst sleeping position for you to try and get out of to relieve yourself. And if you didn’t do so quickly… Suffice to say you’d never have to worry about him wanting you in his bed again.

You were facing his bare chest, your head tucked under his chin, one of his arms thrown over you, holding you firmly against him.

You try to wriggle downward, thinking perhaps you can just slip out of his grip that way, until he moans in his sleep, clutching you even more tightly, a small squeak of surprise escaping your lips.

You briefly press your forehead against his chest, nearly groaning in frustration. You press your thighs together tightly, then do what you have to: you push firmly against his chest, not caring if it wakes him.

Thankfully, however, he releases you, rolling onto his other side.

You’d blush at the fact he was only in his boxers now, and feel angry at the fact you’re only in your panties and a t-shirt—meaning he’d undressed you for bed while you’d been asleep—but you were near-to-bursting at this point.

You quickly exit the tent, grabbing a roll of toilet paper from a basket of supplies nearby and find a tree to relieve yourself behind.

Once you’re finished, you stand, staring at two different tents.

And you hated to admit: that you didn’t know which one to choose.

You were going to have a talk with Shane in the morning about his behavior tonight while you’d been asleep. But right now, all you wanted to do was lie back down—not make decisions. Not think.

And it was chilly out.

You tell yourself, as you zip the tent close, climbing under the blankets and pressing yourself back up against Shane’s chest—as he’d rolled back over in the time you’d been gone—that you’d chosen his simply for his body warmth.

You fight against the small smile that begins to form on your lips as he wraps an arm around you once again, whispering to you, voice slurred from sleep, “I knew you’d come back.”

#fic: twd (shane walsh x reader)#shane walsh imagine #shane walsh x you #shane walsh x reader #twd x you #twd x reader

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annwrites · 6 days

Text

i'm willin' if you are

— pairing: shane walsh x fem!reader

— type: ficlet

— summary: you confide an end-of-the-world wish to shane & he makes you an offer.

— tags: just the two of you conversing during an evening at the farm

— tw: mention of past suicidal tendencies

— word count: 2,048

— a/n: i've had an idea for a little scene like this for a very long time & finally decided to bring it to life. i plan to write more for shane in the future & build up more of a relationship between him & the reader. it's why i've indicated the reader as being fem for this post, despite there not being anything in this particular ficlet to indicate a gender; the other posts i hope to eventually write for shane will involve the reader as clearly having more feminine features.

Shane comes up onto the porch, his boots thumping against each step. He stops, standing in front of you, watching you for a moment as you sew a button onto one of Dale’s shirts.

The button was near-silver in color, whereas the shirt was white, but it’d been the closest match you could find in the collection of them Maggie had let you sift through a little while ago. So, silver it was.

You look up to him, his hands on his hips, a small smirk on his lips as he watches you with mild interest.

You raise a brow slightly.

“This seat taken?” He asks, nodding to the rocking chair beside you.

You shake your head and he sits.

He leans back. “You the camp seamstress now?”

“There’s always work to be done. Even if it’s just fixing a shirt.”

“Dale can’t do that himself?” He asks, his tone not betraying the mild dislike it seemed he’d recently developed toward the man. You couldn’t understand what had occurred between the two to cause such a sudden rift, but you didn’t bother asking, either. None of your business and not your problem.

That was the issue with near-everyone in this camp: dealing with walkers and supplies constantly dwindling, then needing to be replenished—if not the occasional injury or loss of life—wasn’t enough. No, they needed to further their problems by causing more with others by sticking their noses where they didn’t belong, nor where they were wanted. And that included Shane.

More than included him, perhaps. At least at times.

But he’d always been kind to you. Helpful. Not that you didn’t know why: you pulled your weight. You hardly ever stopped working, really. Because when you did take a break, that allowed your mind to wander. Not that it didn’t anyway, but at least this way you were always exhausted at bedtime, so there was no opportunity for you to dwell on troublesome thoughts when it was quiet and dark and you had nothing else to think about than the horrors you’d endured. The losses you’d suffered.

Finally, you shrug, continuing to sew. “I don’t mind.”

Shane leans back. “Somethin’s on your mind.”

You look at him and he continues. “I can tell. Not very good at hiding it. At least not from me.”

You pull through the last bit of thread, then snip, setting the shirt and sewing materials on the small table settled between both your seats.

“I’m fine.”

He sits back, rocking in his chair. “Heard that before. And it was a load of bullshit then just like it is right now. So, you want to give me the truth, or am I going to have to break out Officer Shane to get it out of you?”

You glance to him and he has a playful smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye, but you don’t laugh.

“Just thinking about my bucket list.”

His smile disappears. “That somethin’ I need to be worried about: that you’re thinkin’ like that?”

You settle back in your seat, bringing your left leg up, bending it at the knee, resting your foot on the seat as your other continues to push against the floorboards of the porch, gently rocking the chair. You face him, back turned toward the front door behind you. “No.”

He sighs, shaking his head. “You have to give me more than that.”

You’d expressed a loss of will to live to him weeks ago at the quarry, but had stated the only reason you bothered to keep breathing was due to the unknown of what death—caused particularly by suicide—would hold. And then you had considered staying at the CDC with Jackie and Jenner, but he’d talked you out of it, pulling you along beside him—his hand holding so firmly to yours you were sure he’d dislocate your shoulder as he pulled you along—out of that building. Then he’d covered your body with his as the building exploding, sending debris in every direction.

After, as you traveled the highway, he’d—every now and again—rest his palm over your knee. A reassuring touch that you weren’t alone was all it had been; you had no doubt about that. Just innocent bodily contact.

Once the group was stranded at the highway, though, that sense of fear you’d felt watching the CDC burn had calmed. Your will to live dissipating once more. As you scavenged abandoned vehicles for supplies, you didn’t even think to use any of it to keep yourself on your feet.

And then you’d collapsed from dehydration. You’d woken up in Dale’s RV, Shane holding a bottle of water to your lips…begging you to wake up, cursing you for being just one more person to try and leave him. That he wouldn’t let you.

He may’ve been understanding of your behavior, but he’d not been pleased that you’d nearly died…again. He’d made as much clear. Had made you promise to be smarter in the future. To think before doing. To take better care of yourself going forward, or he would do it for you. And he assured you that you did not want Shane Walsh as your designated baby-sitter.

Neither of you had discussed the things he’d whispered to you in the RV that day when he’d thought you unconscious. You knew that he knew you’d heard some of it, but neither of you were going to acknowledge the soft, desperate words he’d uttered while pressing a cool cloth to your forehead, his hands shaking out of fear that you'd slip away.

In truth, you couldn’t understand it: why he cared so damn much what happened to you. He so often implied that he had no patience, nor need for the weak. And that’s what you were, weren’t you? Then again, he’d told you more than once how he admired how much of a hard-worker you were, even if it’d gotten you in trouble with him more than once now, because perhaps you’d been working too hard… Just a few times, though.

And now you were here, working yourself to the bone again, just like you’d done at the previous camp. You clearly never learn your lesson.

Finally, you sigh. “If I do, you have to promise to keep it to yourself. And that…that you won’t laugh or mock me.”

“I give you my word,” he states, eyes not leaving you.

You nervously wrap your hands around your bent knee, not looking at him. You felt so stupid even thinking it. The fact you were about to say it out loud? Even worse.

“Given the current state of things—not just the world, but right here with all of us—I want you to know that I know just how stupid and selfish I’m about to sound.” You look up to him. “It’s why I planned to keep it to myself. It’s not the sort of thing you share with others.”

He doesn’t speak, just continues to listen, waiting for you to give him the answer to the mystery of what had seemed to be on your mind all day.

“I’m also about to sound incredibly cliché.” You internally cringe before finally speaking it aloud. “I don’t want to die a virgin.”

You don’t look at him when you admit it. “I don’t mean that in some ignorant I-just-want-to-finally-get-laid kind of way. I just…I just wanted to know what it felt like to have that with someone; that experience.”

You look at him, tears shimmering in your eyes. “I thought I’d have more time. I wanted to do things ‘the right way’. I wanted to fall in love, get married—and, yes, I know how old-fashioned that sounds—but I thought I’d one day get that opportunity. Now? Now I just wish I’d done it. Gone to a bar, gone home with some stranger, and gotten it over with. But it still wouldn’t have been the way I wanted it to be. Now I just wish it could be, at the very least, with someone I care about. And if I’m lucky, they’ll care about me, too. If not?” You shrug.

You expect him to at least give you a look which insinuates that you were being ridiculous to be thinking about such things. Such frivolous and literally useless things. Sex. That was what you were thinking about lately. Not food, or water, or ammunition, or literally anything that would help to keep you all alive.

You were thinking about something that just…didn’t matter. Not anymore.

But he doesn’t give you such a look. Instead, you find understanding in his eyes. “I don’t think it’s any of those things you said at all: stupid or cliché or selfish. Hell I…I get it, y’know. It’s one of those things—life experiences. Somethin’ most of us want to have at some point. Not everybody cares whether it’s with a stranger or the love of their life, but some do. Nothin’ wrong with that. I’m not judging you for wantin’ that.”

A tear slips down your cheek at his understanding, which you quickly wipe away. In truth, it wasn’t just about being intimate with someone. It all came down to just how utterly lonely you were. How desperately you wished to have someone of your own.

But that wasn’t going to happen now. Not in this new world.

You couldn’t just bump into someone in the grocery store or meet someone online now.

Now… This was your life now. And you needed to live with that.

You’re both quiet for a moment, the only sound the crackling of the campfire a few feet away, clanging of dishes being washed after the last of the camp finishes up their supper, some idle chatter coming from inside the farmhouse, and crickets and frogs singing as a choir of the forest.

Until Shane speaks. And what he says next takes you completely by surprise. “I’ll have sex with you.”

Your head shoots up and in his direction. Your eyes widen, but he quickly holds his hands up in a gesture which says ‘let me explain first’.

“I don’t mean it in that kind of way, as in ‘you’re wanting to get screwed, and I think I’m the man for the job’, which really translates to me just wantin’ to get lucky. You want more than that—something deeper and…and actually meaningful, I mean. Like I said: I get it. You want someone who cares about you, and…hell, you know I do. Saved your life more than once, as I recall, at that,” he says with a smile. “I just…it’s somethin’ for you to think about, I guess. That I’m willin’ if you are.”

You’re left speechless for a moment. He’d offered himself up so easily that it made you wonder if he’d thought about this before. Being with you in that way, that is.

You glance over to the campsite, Lori and Rick talking amongst themselves, Carl having already gone to bed. You then look back to him and speak lowly. “Lori wouldn’t get jealous?”

He shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t know what you-”

You cut him off. “Please, Shane, spare me. I may be quiet and keep to myself, but I’m not blind. I’m nothing if not observant. I’m not judging you, either. Either of you. You both thought Rick was dead; you were grieving and scared. And you were all the other had. You were already practically family to one another.” He remains quiet. “I get it, Shane. I just…I’m not willing to give myself to a man who’s in love with someone else. I’m sorry, but thank you for the offer.”

He nods, refusing to meet your eyes now, perhaps out of shame.

You pick up Dale’s shirt, ready to give it back to him now that it’d been tended to, but Shane speaks again. “Anybody else know?”

You shake your head. “I don’t think so. Or, if they do, they haven’t shared as much with me. Not that I talk much to everyone here to begin with, I suppose,” you say with a small laugh, fairly devoid of humor. “And you don’t need to worry about me telling anyone, either.”

“I know that,” he says, reaching over to rest his hand on your thigh.

You stand, then, heading over to the RV.

Meanwhile, Shane’s eyes never leave you.

#shane walsh x reader #shane walsh x you #shane walsh imagine #twd x reader #twd x you #fic: twd (shane walsh x reader)

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annwrites · 10 days

Text

eating from your hand ♛. • .

— pairing: larys strong x (legitimized) BastardTargaryenFem!Reader

— type: ficlet

— summary: during rhaenyra's betrothal celebration, larys & rhaenyra's elder sister share a small moment

— tags: fluff, mutual pining, a bit of angst

— tw: eating

— word count: 1,024

You scan the crowded room, desperate for an escape. But it's all too much—the music, the dancing, the people, the strong scents of food and perfume, the obnoxious man at your back, still trying to vie as a candidate for your hand—you feel far too overwhelmed to concentrate. Until your eyes finally land upon Larys—who's standing across the room, his eyes already focused on you—gesturing for you to come to him.

You turn back to Lord Jason one final time, interrupting his speech about gold and castles—or perhaps it was golden castles, as if all you could possibly care about is wealth—and force a smile. “Thank you for your offer, Lord Jason, once again. But I'd like to spend the remainder of my evening in the company of friends. I hope you enjoy the rest of yours.”

Before he can say anything further—can wrap his arm around your waist—you're already forcing your way through a throng of people.

When the crowd finally breaks—dance partners separating for just a moment as the music mellows and then begins to swell again—you move as quickly as possible through them, finally reaching the other side of what has now become a ballroom.

When you finally make it to Larys, you're nearly out of breath, simply from the prospect of having almost been caught in the middle of a buzzing crowd.

He reaches up, cupping your cheek in his palm. “Are you all right?”

You nod. “Thirsty.”

You both sit and Harwin goes to hand you a mug of ale, but Larys shakes his head at him, his expression disapproving. Larys instead hands you a chalice full of water and you drink it down greedily, a few drops sliding down your chin. Larys brushes them away with his thumb.

“Would you like to tell me what that was all about, then?”

Instead of immediately answering, you instead wrap both your arms around his left one and press your forehead against the tip of his shoulder. Your heart is still pounding, so you wait until it has calmed before you bother trying to speak again.

“Do I need to have Harwin break something on Lord Jason?”

You giggle when you hear Harwin's reply. “You know I will.”

You shake your head, gently resting your cheek against Larys' upper arm. “No. He was just proposing.”

He begins to sputter, choking on his wine. Harwin slams his hand against his back, forcing him to finally swallow and then inhale a ragged breath.

“You alright there, little brother?”

Larys nods, fervently.

When he looks at you again, you're staring at him with an alarmed expression. “Are you sure-”

“Just went down the wrong pipe.” He states before taking a sip of water and grimacing.

He faces you then. “He proposed? Was your father aware he was planning this?”

You shake your head. “I...I don't know. Perhaps? It felt more like he was simply making me his second choice. Rhaenyra is to be married in the next few days. She's the one he wanted, but now will never have. So what better way to still get close to the Throne than to...”

You shake your head. Always the second choice. Always an afterthought. Always expected to be submissive and obedient. Perhaps that's why, when he spoke to you, he did so in a way which made it sound as if the matter was already settled. That you already belonged to him.

Did he truly assume you would just agree so easily? Then again, who else would want you?

Rhaenyra. It was always Rhaenyra that men seemed to desire. Never the bastard. Never you. It didn't matter that you were legitimized.

Larys places a finger under your chin, tipping your face until your eyes are looking into his own. "And what did you say?"

There's something within his expression, deep within his eyes—a feeling you can't place. Worry? No, surely not. You're just his friend. He would never...

But, even in spite of that knowledge—that you would never be more to him than just a companion to take the occasional walk with, to sometimes have dinner with—you sit even closer to him, pressing yourself into his side.

"I made sure to mention how I'm his second choice. He tried to assure me otherwise: that I'm the one he's wanted all along, but I'm not quite that gullible. I couldn't get away from him fast enough."

He nods, releasing a breath. "So, you do not wish to marry the Lord Lion?"

You shake your head. "No," you say, barely a whisper.

But you wonder if perhaps you should, anyway. He may be prideful and arrogant, but he would make a good match, nonetheless. You do not wish to spend your life alone. And you wish desperately to one day be a mother. No one else had yet offered their hand to you. This may be your only chance.

You look across the room to where Lord Jason now sits beside his twin. He's handsome, you consider. And they say the West, especially from atop the Rock, is breathtaking. You could find contentment there, with him. Probably...

Rhaenyra had already been difficult enough in your father finding a match for. You do not wish to be the same. If he orders you to wed the Warden of the West, you will do your duty. Which you always resign yourself to.

Larys kisses your hair, then presses his forehead against the side of your head. "What is it, My Love?"

You shake your head and he leans back to look at you. You force a feigned smile. "Nothing."

"You should eat something," he says while handing you a cracker with cheese atop it. You take it from him, popping it into your mouth.

"Good?"

You nod, picking one up and holding it in front of him, smiling as he eats out of your hand. He always makes your heart feel lighter. You decide to think no more of golden lions and second choices tonight. For once, you can live in the moment around you.

#fic: hotd (larys x reader)#t: ficlet #larys strong x reader #larys strong imagine #larys x reader #hotd x reader

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annwrites · 10 days

Text

cinnamon & sugar ✿

— pairing: larys strong x fem!reader

— type: ficlet

— summary: during the royal hunt, larys thinks you deserve a sweet treat.

— tags: fluff

— tw: eating

— word count: 526

When you follow Rhaenyra over, you deflate at seeing her take the last seat amongst the audience which surrounds the queen. Rhaenyra glances around for one nearby, but you turn to simply walk away, resigning yourself to enjoy your own company elsewhere instead. Before you can do so, however, a large, warm hand envelops your own.

“Here.”

You look down and smile softly when you see Lord Larys Strong holding your hand within his own. What you don't see, however, is an open seat.

Your brows furrow. “I don't know where-”

He pats his lap with his other free hand. “Here. A seat, just for you.”

You blush. “I don't think I should-”

“Well, luckily for you, I do.”

He guides you around the arm of the seat and gently pulls you into his lap. He wraps one arm around your waist, firmly holding you in place, while his other remains free.

You look up at those around you. Some meet your gaze with looks of shock, others with disapproval. Rhaenyra is smirking, however, while Queen Alicent simply smiles. The queen clears her throat, drawing all attention—thankfully—back to herself.

You have to refrain from reaching up with your hand to see if your face is truly as hot as it feels.

Instead, you take Larys' hand, which rests over your stomach in both of yours and begin to lace and unlace your fingers with his to distract yourself from any lingering looks.

A moment later, he holds a cookie in front of your face. “Try it.”

You reach up to take it from it, but he quickly pulls it back. You look at him and he grins.

You drop your hand and he holds the pastry in front of you once more.

You take a bite and lick your lips.

“Do you like it?”

You nod, not wanting to speak while still trying to chew. Finally, you swallow. “It's my favorite.”

A simple sugar cookie, with hints of cinnamon.

“Why do you think I fed it to you?” He asks, grinning and then finishing it off, licking the sugar from his fingers.

Your heart skips a beat, but you simply smile in return.

He gestures for you to lean down closer and you do so. He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear—his knuckles consequently running along the soft skin of your cheek—and he brings his lips up to the shell of it.

“I hope my thigh feels far more comfortable beneath your bottom than how you feel atop it. You're quite boney.”

You giggle, louder than intended and immediately fill with dread when eyes shoot in your and Larys' direction once more. You quickly look down again, taking his hand in yours, same as before.

You're not exactly exhibiting behavior suitable for a young lady, you tell yourself. Then again, you're supposed to be enjoying yourself, are you not?

You've always done as told, as instructed. You can have this day—just this one—can't you?

Larys whispers in your ear again. “Ignore them and enjoy yourself. Promise me that you will.”

You look into his kind eyes and nod.

#fic: hotd (larys x reader)#t: ficlet #larys strong x reader #larys strong imagine #larys x reader #hotd x reader

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annwrites · 10 days

Text

bleeding souls ✧☾.·:·.*

— pairing: feyd-rautha harkonnen/twin oc

— type: longfic

— summary: since they were children, feyd has been obsessed with his twin, lea. as they grow older, his possessive behavior only worsens, until he is the only shelter for her that remains.

— tw: dead dove do not eat, incest, non-con, dub-con, mutual mutilation, blood, possessiveness, murder, abusive behavior, sounding, fisting, over-stimulation, orgasm denial, exhibitionism, oral sex, fingering, spanking, obsession, etc. (it's feyd, use your imagination lol)

— word count: 11,670

— author's note: this fic is not complete, this is just what i have so far! this was written after i went to see the 2nd film. i've not read the books (even if i own the deluxe editions of the first 3 novels...), but did do some research on the dune fandom wiki to try & keep things accurate to the lore.

Her earliest memories were of this room. Four walls and a plethora of recreational objects—from books, to puzzles, to sketchbooks—all the company she was permitted, per her twin.

The other half of her bleeding soul.

Feyd's obsession with his twin had taken root within his twisted core at a shockingly early age. They'd been no more than toddlers the first time he'd nearly beaten a boy to death, simply for asking to share one of Lea's toys. It had been the fact he'd deigned to speak to her that had set her twin off like an explosive.

He'd retrieved a rather heavy tome of a book from a nearby shelf and smacked the boy on the back of his head as hard as his growing adolescent muscles would allow.

Lea had balked, then backed away, quiet sobs escaping her trembling lips as she watched in horror while her twin made quick work of turning their playmate into a puddle of blood and tears. It was only when a guard hauled Feyd away that the bloodshed ceased, as did the boy's movements and cries of protest.

When their mother, who'd been visiting Geidi Prime at the time, from Lankiveil, had demanded from Feyd an explanation, he'd simply walked over to his twin, took her trembling hand in his—firmly, territorially—and said lowly 'mine'.

It took him bludgeoning another boy—this time with his bare fists, simply for looking at Lea for a few seconds too long for his personal liking—before other parents refused allowing their children to play with them anymore.

Then it was just the two of them.

And she'd never seen Feyd more content.

He doted on her. Would bring her novels with pretty pictures inside, soft colorful toys, her favorite snacks, and would simply watch—ever observant of her every move, every breath, and blink, and swallow— as she read, played with, or ate the things he alone gifted her. As if she was some creature to be minutely observed and studied.

It made her nervous. On edge. Her stomach queasy and hands shaking at the way his dark, depthless eyes never left her. She would find herself often looking up at him from under her lashes, wishing he would find something to occupy his own self with, but it didn't take long before she understood that she was that very thing.

Not long after the two of them began growing into their bodies did Feyd's obsession take a disturbingly dark and drastic turn.

When he was not training, he was ever-present at Lea's side. They shared their meals together, their lessons together, and eventually a room—more specifically a bed, Feyd's bed—together.

He had not asked anyone's permission, but had simply one day commanded servants to have Lea's things placed in his room, along with a bed more than large enough for two.

Lea had been with her seamstress that day, being fitted for a new dress, and thus completely unaware when she returned to her private quarters, finding them empty of all her personal affects. When she turned to walk out the door, panicking as to why her things had disappeared, Feyd had been leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, a quite-pleased look on his face.

'Come' was the only word he offered her as he turned on his heel and headed in the direction of his room next to hers.

Dutiful as always, she'd followed, taken completely by surprise at the site of his newly-arranged room when he'd led her inside.

When she had asked him why, unable to understand, as his room had always seemed such a private place for only him—even when it came to her—his response had been simple: we belong together.

She hadn't replied.

Their parents had both been visiting them again at the time, and had of course told Feyd that this behavior was to stop, and that Lea's things would be moved back immediately.

He had walked over to them, momentarily releasing his twin's hand and spoke lowly, so that only the two of them could hear, leaving Lea ignorant to whatever was transpiring.

When he stepped away, taking her hand in his once more, he didn't look back as he led his twin back to what was now their room. But Lea did. And she, as they turned a corner, was met briefly with the sight of her father's lips pressed into a thin line and her mother walking away from him, head bowed in defeat.

It had only been two weeks later before Lea woke up to Feyd's face between her thighs in the dark one night, his own clothes strewn across the floor as he worked at her with his tongue, the only light coming in from the windows beside the bed, which illuminated half of her twin's face in an ethereal glow.

She'd tried to squeeze her legs shut, filled with horror at whatever it was that her brother was trying to do to her, but he'd gripped her knees in both his hands, firm as steel, and forced them apart as he continued his ministrations.

She'd cried, pleading with him to stop. Begging. But he had paid her no mind until she came on his tongue, sobbing and filled with shame, not understanding what had just transpired.

Feyd had curled his naked body around her, his arms a vicelike grip around her dainty nightgown-clad frame, his erection pressed firmly into her back as he found sleep holding her against him.

Meanwhile, she didn't close her eyes again for the rest of the night, silent tears slipping down her cheeks and a feeling of mortification at the warm sensation and slickness between her legs.

The most significant mistake she ever made was not telling her parents. She had wanted to; had taken the steps to even try. She'd recorded a message—a shameful message, where she choked out her guilty admittance of what was happening to her between sobs. She had begged her parents to send for her, bring her to Lankiveil to be with them, but when Lea handed off the message to a servant to send, it was promptly delivered to her brother.

He destroyed it without a second thought.

He then returned to their room, informed her that he knew what she had done and she had simply sat, staring at him, too terrified to respond.

He'd stalked slowly toward her, his face unreadable.

He'd leaned down, gripping her chin painfully between his fingers. "You will never do that again. Your home is here, with me. Wherever I am is where you belong. Is that understood?"

She nodded, trying so desperately to understand him and his motivations for this new direction their relationship had taken.

"Feyd, you're..." She swallowed, and he never loosened his grip, his eyes boring into hers, willing further words from her lips. "You're na-Baron. The heir to our house. You could have any woman you want-"

He promptly cut her off. "You are all I want."

He stood back up then, straightening his spine, releasing her. "Stay here, I'll return to you this evening."

She obliged, curling into herself on the oversized mattress which smelled of him as hot tears greeted her pale cheeks.

She eventually cried herself to sleep, her mind no longer racing with the various scenarios of not only what she could do to get herself out of this new living situation, but what was going to happen to her if she didn't.

She'd been dreaming of pale hands around her throat, something cold slithering inside of her as a dark laugh filled her ears when she was jolted awake at the sound of a heavy door firmly closing shut.

She slowly rose, rubbing at her tired eyes when she noticed Feyd entering the room, dark eyes on her, a small smirk upon his lips as he traipsed over to the large black wardrobe on the other side of the room.

She glanced out the window and noticed how dark it had become while she slept.

She suddenly realized how hungry she was, that she hadn't eaten all day. But then her mind thought back to the events of the night before and that same appetite quickly vanished, replaced by a feeling of revulsion at the sight of her twin before her.

Her stomach growled anyway, causing Feyd to chuckle. “Are you hungry, sister?”

She gulped, afraid of her own voice now. “Yes,” she'd replied quietly.

Feyd shut the wardrobe, a dark bundle of fabric in his arms as he made his way back to her, bare feet padding against the hardwood beneath.

He held something out to her and she took it gently from him, slipping it off of his outstretched arm. She held it up before her. One of Feyd's more simple shirts. Black in color, the sleeves short, no embroidery or special design of any kind.

She looked back up to him, confused. “Put it on once you've finished bathing. I'll return shortly with dinner.”

He turned from her, exiting their bedroom once more.

She looked back down to the garment in her lap. He was choosing how she dressed now? What about undergarments?

She looked back over to the wardrobe and threw the shirt down onto the bed before going over to it. She'd had enough of this. He was not going to choose how she dressed as well. He was being utterly ridiculous.

She fingered one of her silk nightgowns, but hesitated before pulling it off the hanger. What if it made him angry—her going against his wishes?

She decided she didn't care. Feyd had never hurt her. He wouldn't start now.

She hoped.

She ignored the shirt on the bed as she made her way into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind her. She hung her nightgown on a hook, then stripped off her clothes, placing them in the hamper before she adjusted the water of the shower.

Before she could step in, her head quickly turned to the right at the sound of the handle being turned. He'd returned far more quickly than she'd anticipated. She watched with bated breath as the handle turned this way, then that, then stopped. She let out a sigh of relief that he'd given up—thankful she'd used the lock to begin with—before stepping into the hot water.

When she emerged from the bathroom, Feyd was waiting for her at the medium-sized table a few feet from their bed.

“Sit,” he'd commanded her, pulling out the chair next to him.

She didn't argue.

She took the designated seat, scooting herself closer to the table, while Feyd lifted the matte black lid from the dish before her. Grilled chicken breast, cooked with roasted vegetables, was the sight that greeted her.

She turned to her twin. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

He merely hummed in response.

Before she could reach for her cutlery, he had already beat her to it.

She watched as he sliced a piece of the tender chicken and stabbed at some green beans before lifting the fork to her mouth. He was going to feed it to her? She opened her mouth, brows furrowed, before he placed the tip of the fork inside. She closed down on it as he removed it in one swift motion. She chewed, then swallowed, watching as he repeated the motion.

“Feyd, I can—”

He cut her off by placing another forkful inside her mouth.

As he cut the chicken again, he spoke. “You locked the door.”

His tone was unreadable, but she knew he wasn't pleased that she had. So what, had he planned to join her?

She gave a nervous, forced smile. “Habit.”

He, once again, only hummed his response.

Little did she know that the next morning when she awoke, the lock on the bathroom door would be gone.

He fed her another forkful. “You didn't wear what I gave you to.”

That she could come up with no excuse for.

“I-” she started, but he cut her off by placing the fork in her mouth again.

She didn't like this.

“You won't do it again.” It was not a question.

As he lifted another forkful to her lips, she reached up, placing her hand over his wrist, forcing him to lower it. She turned to him then, their knees now touching. “Feyd, why are you acting like this all of a sudden? It's scaring me.”

He frowned. “You don't need to be afraid, Lea. Am I not taking care of you?” He asked, while looking at the room around them, then back down to the plate before her.

“I can take care of myself.”

He snorted, going to lift the fork again, but she kept her hand in-place. “Last night-”

He quickly cut her off. “You enjoyed it from what I remember. And what I remember is every second of it.” He could already feel an erection forming at the very thought of it.

She felt the color drain from her face.

“It's wrong,” she whispered, as if someone might hear.

His expression grew angry. “Says whom?”

He used his other hand to grip her upper thigh firmly and she winced. “We were made together, we are meant to be together. You belong to me.”

His tone had grown icily possessive. Entitled.

“I'm your sister. Feyd, we don't-”

“We-I can do anything I please. I am the heir to our house. No one will tell me otherwise.”

His grip was beginning to hurt her.

“Say it,” he commanded.

Tears stung her eyes. “Say what?”

“That you're mine. We belong to each other. Say it.”

Everything inside her wished to do otherwise. She didn't believe it. Couldn't understand for a moment how he himself could. Something had always been different about Feyd, in the worst way possible, but this side of him was unlike anything she'd ever seen.

She nodded. “I'm yours. We belong together.”

“You will obey only me. You will share my room, my bed, my clothes, my food, and anything else I deem fit. And only I am allowed to touch you.”

It was not something to be replied to. She only nodded, heart pounding so hard she wondered if he could also hear it.

Suddenly, the look on his face, as well as the iron grip he had on her thigh, relaxed.

He lifted the fork to her lips, a playful smirk once again upon his. “Open.”

She did.

Once dinner was through, Feyd walked into the bathroom, never closing the door. She looked away as he began to undress right in front of her. She allowed a small sob to escape her lips once she heard the water start, and the door to the shower, with slick black marble walls, close.

She placed her head in her hands. This day had always been coming. She should've known that. He had ensured it over the years as he made her more and more alienated. He had wanted her all to himself, and he had finally gotten what he'd always wanted—desired—above all else.

Once Feyd emerged, Lea was lost in thought, looking out the large window behind their bed, which ran the width of it, once again. She only noticed him when she felt the mattress beside her dip.

Feyd's large hands found her hips, as he rested his chin upon her right shoulder. “What are you looking at, my love?”

Love. He had no idea what that word meant. She wasn't sure she did either, now.

“Nothing.”

He hummed. “Lie down.”

She wasn't tired. She'd slept all day.

“I'm not tired, Feyd.”

His right hand snaked between her thighs. “Perhaps I can help.”

She jolted, turning away from the window, her back slamming into the small ledge which encased it behind her. Her horror grew when she saw that her twin was completely naked.

“Feyd, w-what-”

“This is how I prefer to sleep. Soon, you will, too.”

So he could predict her future wants and wishes now? She was still her own person. He didn't fucking own her. Didn't know her own mind better than her.

“No, I won't.”

The palm of his hand came to rest over her sex, displeased she was wearing underthings. “Do not be difficult, Lea.”

“This isn't natural-”

He cut her off, as always, preferring to do all the thinking for her. “The only thing that would be unnatural would be trying to reject it. Hide it. You will learn to embrace it. And you will enjoy it.”

She shook her head. She opened her mouth to protest, but he crushed his lips against hers, so hard it made her teeth hurt. He forced her lips open, plunging his tongue so deep inside it made her gag. He gripped her hips again, sliding her down on the mattress. He fought to remove her nightgown, then animalistically tore her underwear from her body.

She could barely breathe or see or think through the tears. “Feyd, please-”

While she was begging him to stop, in his mind, she was begging him to go further, and he was more than willing to comply.

His lips descended upon her neck, her breasts, her stomach, her thighs, her sex—which he devoured. His hands stayed locked around her wrists, holding them firmly above her head, then down at her sides as he licked and sucked and kissed at the glistening pink jewel between her legs. His erection pressed into the mattress, pre-cum soaking into the sheets beneath him as she whined and thrashed wildly. He nearly laughed like a madman at how wanton she seemed to be.

This was right. So very, very right, he thought as he fucked her with his tongue, lavishing every last drop of her. He concentrated on the small bundle of nerves, sucking and flicking the tip of his tongue against it. Moaning as her hips lifted as he did.

He bit into one of her thighs, so hard he drew blood and she cried out in shock and pain, while he simply placed his mouth over the wound, licking at the red substance which trickled out. The sight of his bite-mark in an area which only he had access to, blood leaking out, excited him so much he could no longer contain himself. He rose up, plunging his throbbing cock from shaft to hilt deeply inside of her.

Her breathe caught in her throat at the incredible pain. She barely had a chance to catch it as Feyd wildly bucked his hips against her, grunting and moaning, skin slapping against skin as he lost himself in the pleasure of being inside of his twin.

He had waited so long for this moment. Had pleasured himself more times than he could ever count, to the very thought—fantasy—of it. Had stroked his cock so many times until he was so sore he could barely stand to touch it, then did it even more, relishing—enjoying—the pain.

Nothing had ever felt more right than this. Than the two of them being joined together like this—there. He looked down, her small breasts bouncing with every pump of him—his beloved twin who he would always, always take care of and protect—inside of her. Her pale face was streaked with tears, which he then licked and kissed away, enjoying the salty taste of her upon his tongue. Her face was flushed, lips swollen from kissing and crying.

He understood it now.

Crying from happiness.

He didn't cry himself. Never had, but nearly could this night. Everything was so perfect. Every night for the rest of their lives could be like this—nay, would be. Him buried as deep as he could be inside of her. Her lost to the pleasure he was more than willing to provide.

He watched as his cock plunged in and out of her, and noticing it covered in blood, their thighs as well—from him breaking her hymen, to the bite mark he'd left on her thigh—it was all too much and he couldn't contain it any longer. He went thundering over the edge. His hips slamming wildly against her, him loudly moaning out his release as his hot and plentiful seed spilled into and out of her. His twin, his lover, his everything.

He collapsed on top of her, his cock still twitching inside her, and he tried to calm his breathing.

He felt...euphoric. Like a god.

How could something that felt so good, so incredibly right, ever—ever—be considered wrong? Let them try to tear them apart: their parents, their brother, the guards or servants. He would kill them all until they were the only two left. His uncle would be the only one to understand. He had a similar...affliction when it came to finding pleasure with those society deemed unfit for the job.

He was his heir, however. And if his uncle approved, then no one else mattered. And if he didn't, he would kill him, too.

A fight between the two would be little challenge, he mused.

Slowly, Feyd rose, looking down tenderly at Lea, while her eyes seemed to refuse to meet his. His brows furrowed.

“What is wrong?” He placed a gentle kiss to her soft cheek.

Everything, she wanted to say.

She hadn't wanted it...at first. It was wrong. She knew that. Siblings—family—weren't meant to be like this. But, at some point, the pain had turned somewhat...pleasurable. And she liked it...what he did with his mouth between her thighs. She then thought it herself: why, exactly, did it have to be wrong?

Yes, they were twins, shared blood, but if it wasn't hurting anyone, then what reason did they truly have to stop? She felt sick with herself to even consider such things. To consider that maybe he had been right.

What was happening to her?

He sat on his side, looking down at her, while his right hand held his head up, his left rested gently on her stomach.

She looked at him. “I don't think...that it will be an easy adjustment for me.” She paused. “Whatever this is.”

“Did you not enjoy it?” He knew she had. Had heard the sounds she made, had coated his tongue and cock in her wetness. Had felt her clenching tightly around him.

All was silent between them for a long while, until, finally, she replied.

“Yes.”

He filled with satisfaction. He had done it. Had unlocked something inside of her. Something which only he possessed the key to.

He kissed her, long and deep, before rising from the bed. He held out his hand to her. “Come, let's get ourselves cleaned up.”

As Feyd washed the two of them, he silently hoped the bite mark he'd left would scar, a permanent memento of the first night they lied together. His own personal brand of ownership upon her body.

Once they were back in bed, it'd only taken a moment for Lea's naked form to relax against Feyd's, his arms firmly wrapped around her, as she found sleep pressed against his chest.

During the next few weeks, the two of them barely left their room, unless it was for studying, or Feyd's training. During that time, Feyd almost always kept the two of them bare before one another, the door locked.

They were near-always in bed, doing learning of a different kind.

Feyd had spent hours every day using his hands, his fingers, his mouth and tongue and teeth, his cock—everything he had at his disposal, really— to learn every facet of his twin's body. He wanted to have every inch of her memorized. Schooled himself on what things he did that made her tremble and shake, whine and plead, soaking their sheets, and what things made her disinterested or uncomfortable.

He paid acute attention to her breathing, her swallowing, her complexion. Her body language, inside and out. From the way she lifted and lowered her hips, spread her legs for him, what made her wet and dripping quite quickly and what made her seem to dry up, to how she clenched when he stuck parts of himself, or other objects inside of her.

It was pleasurable for him, yes, but he was mostly fascinated by how her body worked in conjunction with his own. As the days went on, his conviction that the two of them were literally made for one another only grew stronger, until nothing could convince him otherwise.

She liked when he was slow and gentle. That much had become apparent very early on. And he took no qualms with dragging out their lovemaking. Eventually, he had managed to perfect the process to taking hours. His cock and fingers and sex toys slipping in and out of her at an excruciatingly slow pace. His erection would throb painfully at the sight of her spread open before him, her cunt red and dripping, she quietly whimpering his name repeatedly, like it was the only word left in all the world.

He would tease her, barely brushing his thumb over her sensitive clit, while her body jerked in response. He'd blow gently against the slickness pooling between her thighs and she would sometimes begin to cry from sexual frustration.

It wasn't just about learning, however. He was also training her. Training her mind to begin working differently when it came to fucking him.

She had resisted from time to time when it all first began, but never had Feyd allowed that to stop or hinder him. He knew best for her. For the both of them. It would just take his being patient for it to settle permanently into place within her like it had him. So when she would fight against it—him—he would hold her down, or sometimes would tie her up, which he noticed quickly made things much easier when he had all his faculties at his disposal, and would get to work on her sensitive body.

There was a toy that was a particular favorite of his. Something which he could clip onto her clit and control with a small remote. It would vibrate at various frequencies, all while he slowly plunged his aching cock in and out of her.

When she would try to make him stop any way she could, he would turn the toy off, making sure to note how she clenched around him—never bothering to remove his cock from inside of her—all the confirmation he needed to know she liked it all as much as he did, whether she wished to admit it audibly or no. She would look up at him pleadingly then, but he wouldn't move an inch until she gave him what he wanted. An apology and 'please'. And then he would start up again.

Sometimes, it took the better part of a day before the two of them would orgasm together. She was the one who made the process take so long, but he didn't mind. He lost himself in it. In her.

He knew she absolutely loved when his face was between her legs. So, he endeavored to give her oral sex quite often. But only when she was good for him. He wasn't just going to give her what she wanted if she wouldn't do the same for him. And all he wanted was for her to behave however he wished at any given moment. And when she did, he rewarded her, quite generously.

He had taught her how to perform oral sex on himself as well, allowing her throat to adjust to the size of him. Sometimes she would gag trying to take him all in. Sometimes she would suck, quite content with him buried deep in her warm wet mouth, his seed spilling down her throat, down her chin when he finally finished as her head continued to bob against him, cleaning him lovingly with her tongue.

He knew the guards outside their doors knew. Sometimes he fucked her up against it, grunting loudly for all to hear him claiming her over and over again as his personal property.

The servants it was most certainly not hidden from. They soiled their sheets daily, sometimes multiple times a day. Their clothes strewn across the floor, her panties often soaked through, needing washed. Sometimes, despite her words of protest, he would fuck her right in front of them.

The day their father came to put a stop to things—having been told by a messenger, which was later found choking to death in a puddle of his own blood on a cold floor—the door had been locked as always, but he'd been given the key. (Feyd later rectified this. A new knob was put into place, which he himself had the only key to.) And when he opened the door, the sight before him stopped him, horrified, in his tracks. And he regretted returning to Geidi Prime, knowing what awaited him when he did.

Feyd had been sat on the bed, naked, his erection settled between his legs, one foot planted on the floor, while Lea was hunched over before him. Her face had been turned toward the same door her father had just walked through, her head resting on a pillow, her expression one of pure pleasure—her cheeks pink, her mouth slightly open as she panted gently, lids hooded—while her ass-end was in the air before her twin.

She had a toy clamped firmly over her clit, which emitted a low vibrating sound, and he watched as Feyd slipped a toy inside her cunt, which already contained one, him trying to stretch her to her limits, while she simply moaned in pleasure. His other hand coming down to smack her already-red behind.

Lea froze, shame filling her, along with a feeling of nausea. But she didn't move, didn't dare anger her brother as he looked at their father, an evil smirk on his face.

“Hello, father.” Was all the greeting he gave him as he removed both the toys from inside his younger sister by five minutes, tossing them onto the bed, before easing himself into her, never looking back to see their father exit without another word as he began fucking her himself.

He and Lea came together only a few moments later before beginning again, never speaking a word of what had just occurred.

The few and far between times when they dined with their parents when they were visiting, the twins always sat next to one another, Feyd's hand gripping her thigh, sometimes his finger's exploring between her legs, sometimes a toy even stuffed inside her as they ate. Not to mention that Feyd had completely altered her wardrobe.

The only gowns she was allowed to wear outside their room now were incredibly sheer, everything practically on display. The guards were intelligent enough to know not to so much as glance in her direction. The gowns served as both a challenge and a statement, she knew.

Feyd hoped desperately just one of them would look at her. He'd cut their eyes from their sockets while she watched. All for her.

So, while they all dined, Lea would hardly touch her food. Meanwhile, Feyd would clean his plate. Their parents never looked at or spoke to either of them. Too disgusted by what they had become. Too ashamed to speak it out loud. Or, perhaps, afraid to, in fear of what their son may do in response.

When they would finish, Feyd would stand, then pull out his sister's chair, before heading back in the direction of their room, her following closely and silently behind, her thighs slick with herself from whatever toy he'd chosen for her to have that night, if not the back of her gown as well.

She didn't know it, but Feyd got off on it: their parents knowing what the two of them were doing together. That it was forbidden, but that they enjoyed one another in so many ways in spite of it.

They needn't worry about a grandchild yet, however. Feyd had had an implantation put into Lea to ensure there was no such risk after their first night together. This way, they could simply enjoy one another.

Eventually, their parent's visits ceased, and finally there was no one left to try and stand in Feyd's way of making her wholly and utterly his own.

Over time, Feyd no longer allowed Lea to leave their room. He'd had the air leading into it purified—a very difficult and expensive process—and he'd also had her diet modified, health supplements were delivered regularly, which she was also directed to take daily. And his hope of what it would all bring finally came to fruition. Long, dark hair began to grow from his twin's head, long enough for him to wrap around his fist after a few months, and it pleased him greatly.

Lea hadn't been sure how to feel about it at first. All her life she had been bald, like every other citizen of Geidi Prime. Hair-care was something she, nor anyone else, ever need concern them self with here. But Feyd had made it clear that this was something he wanted for—from—her. In time, she came to understand why.

Not only did she feel that it made her look more feminine, but she felt as much, too. As the hair grew longer and longer, Feyd had shipments of special soaps and oils, brushes and combs delivered. He tended to her hair himself.

One day, a new resident was delivered to their home. A stylist. She was the only other person allowed anywhere near his twin's hair. Once it reached Feyd's desired length—just above Lea's bottom—he would have her brought into their room to have it cut. He would stand closely by, arms crossed, ever-observant as she would trim the ends; the threat of having her throat cut open always looming if she made one wrong snip.

When she would finish, she would stand to the side as Feyd took the hair in his hands and between his fingertips, ensuring it was perfect. Once he deemed it so, he would give her a small nod, and she would leave without another word.

Inevitably, Lea became stir-crazy being constantly locked up, her only company her twin brother. She had one day begged him to allow her to go outside, just for an hour or two, but he had simply slipped his fingers through her silky hair, before looking into her eyes and giving her a firm 'no'.

She had cried that night as he fucked her.

Over time, Lea began to lose weight, her hair began falling out, both of which caused even Feyd distress. She wasn't eating, was hardly sleeping, and spent all her time with her face pressed up against the window in their room, constantly staring outside, like a prisoner trying to escape through the bars to his cell.

Feyd had had servants come in and do a thorough cleaning of their room, the furniture re-arranged to better suit the space—some of it replaced altogether—and he'd had shipment after shipment of books and puzzles and paints and new nightgowns, and beautiful new brushes and hair accessories brought in. He'd even had, for each of her meal's, Geidi Prime's chef make only her favorite dishes, hoping it would lift Lea's spirits, bring her back to who she'd been a few months prior. But she showed little to no interest in all of it.

Even lovemaking had become a hollow chore. She would simply lie there limp, like a dead fish, as he pumped his cock in and out of her, her cunt barely even wet for him—and she was always wet for him at all times of the day—dripping and ready whenever he needed to take his release. Not even the toy for her clit had gained him a response. He'd put it carefully into place, and put it on the setting she liked the most, while he slipped two fingers inside of her to observe how she reacted. Her tight walls didn't clench even once, causing him to deflate, along with his erection.

Feyd felt at his wit's end. He knew all along what it was that she truly needed: out of their bedroom. Outside, even just for half-an-hour. But he was afraid—actually afraid—of what would happen to her hair if he allowed it. Would it fall out immediately? He seriously doubted it. But how often, then, could he allow her out, before that risk finally occurred. Before all his hard work to get it to grow in the first place became all for naught?

He couldn't understand why it meant so much to him. Something so simple. But he also did: his twin had something no other woman on their entire planet did. His lover, her beautiful head of hair, was something for other men to lust after. But only he was allowed anywhere near her.

Finally, one day, after she had not eaten for three in a row, and had only spoken a handful of words to him—only after he had spoken to her, at that—he relented.

“Let's go outside.”

Her head shot up and in his direction, her eyes wide against her now-gaunt face.

She slid toward the edge of the bed. “Do you really mean it?”

He nodded, while holding out a coat in her direction.

He slipped it on over her now too-slender shoulders and waited patiently as she slipped on a pair of shoes, barely paying enough attention to even make sure they matched, before she looked up to him excitedly.

He gave her a small smile in response, pleased to see the old her returning to him. He took her hand in his, her fingers now cold and bony, before he unlocked their bedroom door from the inside, then locked it behind them once they were in the hall.

They were only a few steps down the hall before Lea stopped in her tracks, Feyd looking to her. “I thought this was what you wanted?”

She didn't hear him as a roaring started in her ears. How long had she been locked in that room? Being outside of it now was overwhelming—no, more than overwhelming—she felt like she was going to be swallowed whole.

When had this hallway gotten to be so large? It engulfed her. It was never-ending; the world was. Too big, too much. Too much space. Suddenly, she couldn't breathe and she dropped to her knees, causing Feyd great alarm at the sight before him.

He kneeled in front of her as she curled into herself. What was happening?

He tried to pry her hands away from her face, but she swiftly put them back over her eyes.

“Lea, stop this.” he hissed.

But she couldn't hear him. She was whispering to herself 'no, no, no, no, no' over and over again. Both of them wondered if she had gone mad.

Finally, he scooped up her fragile frame in his arms and carried her back to their room, her face buried in his neck, terrified to look at the space around them.

Once she heard the door shut firmly behind them and lock, did her vision behind to clear and her breathing return to normal. Her heart rate slowed.

Feyd set her on the edge of the bed, while once again kneeling before her as he brushed her hair behind her ear, out of her face.

She began to silently cry. “I'm sorry. I don't... I don't know what happened.”

He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before standing. “I'll fetch the doctor.”

Before she could tell him that that wasn't necessary, he was out the door and gone.

Lea had nearly started drifting off to sleep before Feyd finally returned, doctor in-tow as promised.

The same doctor who had implanted her birth control device some years prior. He was nearly the same age as their father, a few inches shorter than her brother, and thin, with a very serious disposition.

Feyd hovered over her protectively as the doctor retrieved a chair from the nearby table and sat it in front of her. “Can you tell me what happened today, My Lady?”

Lea glanced up to her twin, who gave her a small nod, his arms crossed, and she looked back to the doctor, then down to her hands.

“Earlier, Feyd and I were going to go for a walk. And when we left our bedroom, I... I felt like I couldn't breathe, couldn't see. I felt...so afraid, simply because we were standing in a hallway. One I've been in thousands of times before. It felt like it would never end. Like the world might swallow me.”

Finally, when she looked up, the doctor's features were overtaken by a sudden sense of understanding.

He stood then, Feyd following him a few feet away from her.

“What's wrong with my sister?” Feyd demanded answers from him in a low, gravely, but threatening voice.

The doctor somehow wasn't intimidated. “She has a condition, psychological, known as agoraphobia. When was the last time she left this room?”

Feyd didn't answer.

“It can manifest due to different things, and in different ways. I would say her particular case can be attributed to her being closed up in this room for months-on-end. She was made to feel comfortable, until there was no reason for her to leave. That is, until her body started urging her to do otherwise.”

“How do I fix her?”

“She needs to gradually work back up to being used to being outside of this room again. It won't be easy, for either of you. She'll battle you every step of the way, terrified of what may lie beyond that door, despite the fact that she already knows the answer.

“Start small, the hallway, then a nearby room, then another and another, until, finally, she's ready to go outside. You need to reassure her that she's safe, and that everything ends: the hallway, that the rooms she's in are just four walls and a door, even our planet is only so large. Everything has an end.”

“And if I allow her to stay in here, where she's most comfortable?”

The doctor glanced back to Lea, then to the young man before him and shook his head. “You already know the answer to that.” He sighed. “I can give her something for anxiety, and something to help her sleep, but the rest is up to her. It may help, for her to have a professional to speak to about how she's feeling, so as to gauge her progress. If so, I'd be happy to help.”

Feyd already knew that much he wouldn't allow. If she wanted—needed—someone to speak to, she had him. She didn't need anyone else. Especially another man. Doctor or not.

“Have the medications delivered once they're ready.”

With that, the doctor knew their conversation was at an end. He nodded, then made his way to the door. He briefly glanced back to the siblings behind him. “Please let me know if either of you need anything further,” and then he was gone.

Feyd walked over to Lea, kneeling before her while tears shone in her eyes. “What's wrong with me?”

He brushed a stray tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “A condition, called agoraphobia. To put it plainly: you've been closed up in here so long, it's messed with your mind. Made you afraid of what's on the other side of the door.”

Her brows furrowed. “Ag-agor...” She trailed off, then shook her head. “How do we fix me?”

Feyd looked over his shoulder to the door behind him, then back to his twin.

Her eyes grew wide, then she began to shake her head. “No, I can't go back out there. Feyd, please. I know what I want now. I want to stay in here, with you. And when you leave, I'll wait for you to come back like I always do. I'll-”

He shook his head. “Being kept in here isn't helping you, either. You'll do as I say. I know what's best for you.”

A few moments later, there was a knock at the door, then, and when Feyd opened it, he was greeted by a slave holding a tray with two bottles, pills inside, meant for Lea. He took them without a word, closing the door in the young boy's face.

That night, Feyd didn't allow his little sister to leave the dinner table until she had eaten every last morsel from her plate. Once finished, he handed her a sleeping pill. Before taking it from his outstretched palm, she looked at him hesitantly.

“To help you sleep.”

She nodded, placed the pill on her tongue, then drank a sip of water. “How long until it takes effect?”

Feyd shrugged while standing. He pulled Lea's chair back and watched as she walked over to their shared wardrobe and slipped off her clothes from the day, dropping them to the floor. She went to put on one of Feyd's plain shirts, before he told her to stop.

She glanced back to him, already in bed. And naked.

She felt heat pool between her legs then, and she padded over to him. She came to stand before him, between both of his legs, and he gripped the backs of each of her thighs, then kissed her stomach. He then took his right hand and placed his palm firmly against her sex and hummed in satisfaction when his hand came away glistening and wet.

He then slipped two fingers between her folds and his cock hardened at the slick sensation. A proper diagnosis, treatment plan, and a decent meal later and already her body was coming back alive and responding to his touch again.

He eased one finger inside her tight cunt, and she gasped, her hand coming up to grip his shoulder. He then eased in another, and grinned as he felt her clench around him. It was when he eased in a third that her knees suddenly felt weak. He curled them upward, massaging the sensitive ledge inside of her and she threw her head back, closing her eyes.

When she began to moan, Feyd's grin grew wider, and he stopped.

Her eyes shot open, but before she could ask him to continue, he nodded toward the bed. “Lie down.”

She did as commanded and spread her legs, allowing her twin brother access to her.

He sat back on his haunches and placed one hand firmly on her stomach, while he slipped four fingers inside of her this time. He began fingering her so quickly she barely had a chance to catch her bearings. He pressed down on her lower stomach and she gasped at the heightened sense of pleasure.

Soon, Feyd's hand was coated in her, and obscene sounds were coming from between her legs.

She looked down, her eyes meeting Feyd's, which had grown impossibly dark, and watched as the muscles in his arm worked at finding her release.

She threw her head back against the mattress beneath her and opened her legs even wider then and could swear she heard her twin groan in approval.

The stimulation of him continually hitting that most pleasurable spot inside her, after a few more minutes, finally sent her over the edge, with her nearly screaming at the release he finally helped her find. Liquid shot out of her cunt, soaking the sheets beneath them. It was unlike anything she'd ever felt before at his hands.

He didn't stop until the squirting did, and then he dove in with his mouth.

Lea whined in pain, still too sensitive down there, but Feyd paid her no mind as he began to suck at her wet folds, circling his tongue over and over, lapping at her juices like a man desperate for water in the deserts of Arrakis.

“Feyd, please, no more.”

He responded by gripping her hips, pulling her closer to his open mouth.

She sat up on her elbows and looked down at him. “Please,” she panted, her cunt growing more and more sore as he continued on.

He rolled his eyes and began to fuck her with his tongue.

It'd been weeks since they'd been properly intimate. She wasn't going to deny him this. Something they both desperately needed.

Lea lied back down, bringing her hands over her eyes and trying her hardest to keep herself together as Feyd dined upon her body.

He'd be done soon enough, she was sure.

How deeply wrong she had been.

Once Feyd made her orgasm not once, not twice, but three times—the second orgasm sending her to tears at the pain of it, the third near-excruciating—he had slipped himself inside of her. She had cried quietly beneath him as he took his time easing himself slowly in and out of her.

She wasn't sure which she wanted less... Or perhaps more... For him to be gentle with her, given how sore she now was, or for him to pound away inside of her to get it over with more quickly.

Feyd began to run his thumb over her clit, which was now red and raw, while she pressed the heels of her hands into her wet eyes. “Feyd, I can't again. Please. It's so painful.” she choked out between sobs.

He ignored her pleas as he palmed one of her breasts, continuing to rub her clit.

Two more orgasms later on her part, Feyd finally came inside of her. She was exhausted by then. Her cunt was throbbing painfully, her brother's hot cum leaking out of her, and she was struggling to keep her eyes open, the sleeping meds having kicked in some time ago.

Feyd had crushed his lips to hers, satisfied that he had finally gotten to cum in her after being patient for so long.

When Lea fell asleep, it was with Feyd's arms around her, his naked frame wrapped around her own, and his cock buried inside her.

Lea lounged back in the bathtub large enough to be a pool and ran her fingers over the scars covering one of her thighs, then the bite mark on the other, which Feyd had given her the first night they had sex so long ago.

The scars on her left inner-thigh were her twin's doing. One for each year of their being together. Not as siblings, but together. As one flesh and soul and blood. He told her it was so she would never forget a moment between them.

It was to always mark the anniversary of that first night. And each time he would cut her, he would then drink until the blood stopped flowing.

He had matching scars on his own as well, administered by her. The first one she had done, she had tried it—his blood, per his request—and promptly gagged as the metallic taste filled her mouth. She, thankfully, didn't have to again after that first time. So long as the marks were made by her hand, he was satisfied.

She's removed from her reminiscing at the sight of her brother entering the bathroom. Feyd stands over the tub, looking down at her, her looking up at him in anticipation, when he finally reaches into the depths of the tub, removing the silver stopper.

She stands and her twin grabs a towel to wrap her in, but not before taking a moment to admire her wet, naked body.

Finally, he wraps her up and she follows Feyd out of the bathroom and watches patiently as he chooses a gown for her to wear for the day. He finally settles on a see-through lavender one. He then opens a drawer and retrieves a pair of nipple clamps.

Lea blanches at the sight of them. The gown was bad enough, but the clamps? Completely unnecessary.

Feyd gently tugged the towel away from Lea, and she let it drop to the floor. He took one of her breasts in his hand, and slipped the nipple clamp into place and adjusted the tightness until it stayed in place, then repeated the motion with her opposite breast.

Then, he slipped the gossamer gown over her head and retrieved a brush from a nearby table and ran it through her damp hair.

Once he deemed her appearance appropriate, she wrapped both her arms around his right one, and held on tight as he unlocked their bedroom door. She squeezed her eyes shut for just a moment at the sound of it, her heart already beginning to pound just at a lock coming undone.

Feyd led the two of them into the hall, locking their bedroom door behind them, and Lea’s grip only tightened. She didn’t want to look—to see the never-ending hall before them.

Feyd looked down to his twin, who along the way had become so incredibly fragile, and spoke lowly to her. “Open your eyes, my darling. You have to look.”

Lea slowly opened one eye, the other side of her face still pressed against Feyd’s upper-arm. As she looked around, she couldn’t help but feel like she was trapped in a tunnel with no exit.

They took one step forward, then another and another, Lea’s heart beating wildly the entire time, a feeling of such surety that if they went any further, something terrible was going to happen. Her feet halted where she stood and Feyd gave her a moment to catch her bearings. He planted a soft kiss upon the top of her head.

“A few more steps and then we’ll be in the library, my love.”

The library. With towering bookcase after bookcase. A labyrinth to get lost in.

She shook her head. “I want to go back now.”

Feyd drug her along another few steps. “You’ll do as I tell you.”

She wanted to beg further. How could she have ever wanted out of their room? Their bedroom where it was warm and pleasant. A large glass window to look out of at an unsafe world, in their safe and very comfortable, over-sized bed, piled with pillows and blankets. She had two large bookcases of her own, she didn’t need to peruse the nearby library.

She wanted to go back to bed with her brother and get lost in the feeling of him buried inside of her, his arms wrapped around her, where she was most safe. Or at the very least…felt most safe.

Once Feyd had finally gotten them to the library a few doors down from their room, he promptly shut the large doors behind them. Lea’s heart-rate slowed as she slowly took in their surroundings. She could make out all four sides to the room and the windows against the back helped illuminate the darkness, driving the shadows which threatened to swallow her away.

She let go of Feyd’s arm then and he watched her, studying her reaction to being in a new room for the first time in months. She hadn’t collapsed in on herself yet, but he wondered if it was all her, or if the pill he had given her for her anxiety played some part in it. Perhaps both.

She began to wander and wind through the bookcases, Feyd’s steps following closely behind her own. She pulled this book and that from the shelves, perusing, looking for a few novels to take back with her.

Her sheer skirt clinged to her naked body and her twin’s cock hardened at the sight of her being completely on display for all to see. He’d never caught them, but he was sure more than one guard had taken her in, her pert breasts, her round ass, her perfect cunt—his absolute favorite part of her which he never stopped thinking about. The thoughts that constantly circulated within his mind were all the things he wanted to do to her. The things he wanted to shove inside her cunt, just to see what her reaction might be. Even now.

Feyd pressed his chest against her back, then ran his hands under her gown, squeezing her ass in his grip. She laid her head back against him, closing her eyes. He then slid his hands higher, to her hips, then higher still, until he had both her breasts in his palms. He tugged gently against the clamps he had placed on her nipples and she moaned in the back of her throat. He tugged again and again and again, and she felt herself growing wetter with each tug.

Feyd took her hand, leading her over to an empty table and he gripped both of her hips, lifting her onto it. She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, but before she could pull away, he gripped the back of her head and crushed his lips against her own. She opened her mouth, allowing him entry and he flicked his tongue against hers over and over.

Finally, he pulled away and took her in. She had grown so thin. He intended to rectify that as time went on. He wanted her hips and breasts and ass full and healthy like they had been.

“Lie back.”

She did as her twin told her.

Feyd ran his hand from between her breasts, to her stomach, to her sex, then used both his hands to trail down her thighs, all the way down to her ankles, which he gripped, placing both her feet flat upon the top of the table, spread wide.

Lea’s heart pounded with excitement at whatever her older brother was about to do to her.

Feyd reached up to the neckline of her gown and ripped it open in one swift motion.

Lea’s mouth fell open. This one had been one of her favorites...

“What will I wear back to our room?”

Feyd smirked, then shrugged. “I suppose nothing, darling.”

Heat settled between her legs.

Feyd stepped away from her for a moment, disappearing around the edge of one of the shelves and Lea waited patiently. She heard the sound of a drawer opening, then closing and she tugged gently at both of her nipple clamps waiting for him to return to her. Her wetness was slipping down her ass and onto the table by the time he returned.

She lifted her head, looking at him standing at the edge of the table, something glinting in his right hand.

Her brows furrowed as he set it down.

Feyd dropped into the seat behind him, then scooted it forward, making himself comfortable before he got to work. He quickly pulled his cock from his pants, not bothering to pull them down. Just wanting some relief as his erection was now straining painfully against the material.

He reached forward, spreading Lea’s lips between her legs open with two of his fingers and groaned as he watched her clench.

He picked up one of the slim silver pens he had found in a nearby drawer and slipped the bottom-end of it into her.

She jerked at the cold feeling of the metal entering her, then relaxed.

“Stay still,” Feyd said, and she didn’t dare argue.

He slipped in another and watched as the two pens bobbed as her walls clenched once, then twice.

He slipped in yet two more and she whimpered, liking what was being done to her. She always enjoyed when Feyd filled her to her limits, if not sometimes a bit past it.

Lea stretched her arms above her head and arched her back, spreading her legs wider for him and Feyd hummed his approval as she lowered herself back down onto the table. She started gently pulling against her nipple clamps once again as Feyd slipped another pen inside her eager cunt.

That made five, and he knew she was wet enough to take a few more easily.

He slipped in two more at the same time and Lea sighed, wishing he would play with her clit. She knew better than to do so herself. She’d only tried that once while they were being intimate together and he’d told her sternly she was never do so again, that that part of her was for him alone to touch and she had nodded, indicating that she understood.

She’d gotten punished thoroughly, however, the day Feyd had come into their room and saw that she’d been busy playing with herself without his knowledge or permission. Her right hand had been rubbing away between her legs, fingers plunging in and out of herself, a pillow placed under her hips.

She’d been so engrossed in pleasuring herself that she hadn’t even noticed her twin, who was now seething, standing at the side of the bed. She’d been broken from her near-orgasm at the sound of something shattering against the wall. She’d jerked and yelped, now-frightened, and the expression on Feyd’s face had been one of pure rage.

She quickly removed her hand from between her legs, but there was no trying to hide what she’d been doing. Feyd had climbed on the bed and she tried to scoot away from him, now afraid, but he’d gripped her hips, yanking her back down to him. All she could do was stare up at him as he seethed, his anger palpable, rolling off of him in waves.

All was deathly quiet for a few minutes, until, finally, he gripped her cunt painfully in his hand, his eyes boring into her own as she withered underneath his gaze. “This belongs to me. It is my property. Mine to do with as I wish. It is for only me to touch, and me alone. I own it. If you need relief, you come find me. You will never touch yourself like this again without my knowledge. Is that understood?”

She nodded over and over again, tears brimming in her eyes.

“Say it,” he commanded, with acidity.

“I understand, I’ll do whatever you say.”

He nodded, then gripped her hips and threw her onto her stomach while he lowered himself onto her calves, holding her into place as he spanked her ass red and raw until she couldn’t sit down for a solid week afterward. He then flipped her back over and spanked her cunt until she was sobbing so hard she couldn’t breathe and it was beyond raw, swollen and blood-red. Feyd had fingered her brutally then until she bled, his fingers covered in it, and came so hard she screamed in agony at the feeling.

Any temptation to touch herself after that day was more than removed. She had learned her lesson.

So, Lea lied there as Feyd shoved pen after pen into her, until the count was up to ten and she was sure she couldn’t take anymore.

Her twin’s own heart pounded, appreciating the view before him of his own doing. Her hole stretched nearly to its limits, full.

He had three pens left and shoved another in and Lea’s head shot up, looking down at Feyd. “Feyd, please, I don’t think anymore will fit. It already hurts.”

He glanced up to her. “There’s only two more left. Can you not handle it?” He asked, twirling one between his fingers.

She considered him for a moment, then concentrated on just how full she currently felt. She brought one of her hands down between her legs and lightly brushed her fingertips over all the pens currently sticking out of her. She then leaned back on that same arm. “I don’t think so.”

Feyd considered her for a moment, then nodded and she let out a sigh of relief, lying back down.

Feyd leaned back in his chair and pulled his pants down, stroking his cock at the beautiful sight before him.

Lea knew what he was doing just from the sound alone and she felt her walls clench, causing Feyd to chuckle at the sight of the pens bobbing half-in half-out of her. She was just grateful she had something to clench around, even if it was something rather unusual. But she liked it; it felt good to her.

Feyd had only tried it himself a handful of times before, but he wished for something to put in himself now as well, feeling it was only fair.

He stood, walking back to the desk from before and removed a thin letter opener. He returned to his seat from before and sat. He used the grip of it and gradually eased it into the slit at the opening of his cock. It was painful, yes, but it only made it all the better for him.

He kept stroking, watching as Lea’s tight walls kept those pens bobbing every few seconds, her hands fondling her breasts. Once he was close, he removed the letter-opener, letting it clatter to the floor and he stood, stroking furiously before he came all over his sister’s stomach.

Lea looked up at him lovingly. “Do you feel better now, brother?”

Feyd’s lips twitched. “Nearly.”

He never stopped stroking, despite his cock protesting against him. But the pain of it, turning him on all the more, his skin hot, made him come quickly yet again, this time on Lea’s naked breasts. Finally, when he came a third time, it was on her outstretched tongue, some of it shooting into the back of her throat.

She had licked her lips, savoring the taste of him and Feyd had gently gripped the back of her head, bringing her closer to his throbbing cock and she swallowed him whole, cleaning him with her tongue, swirling it around him this way and that, the only sounds to fill the silence around them being that of her sucking him off.

Feyd threw his head back, bucking his hips, making her gag, then settling again as she continued her steady rhythm. He thought with a wry smirk that her having two out of three holes filled at once wasn’t too bad.

He had trained her so well.

Finally, his lust got the better of him and he gripped the back of her head, his fingers tangled in her hair, and began to fuck her mouth. Brutally.

She gagged and choked and struggled to breath—tears stinging her eyes at the inability to—but Feyd kept wildly bucking his hips, shoving his thick cock in and out of her mouth until a few seconds later he came, her throat filling with hot cum.

When he removed himself, she gasped for breath, sputtering and coughing through his seed.

She wasn’t upset, however. Sometimes he liked doing things roughly. Sometimes she did, too.

Feyd removed her gown from under her and used it to wipe the spit and cum from around her mouth, then threw it onto the floor. He walked around to the edge of the table where all eleven pens were still lodged firmly inside of her, and gripped them all in his fist.

She shot up, however, gripping his wrist in her own. “Don’t.”

Feyd looked at her with a raised brow, surprised.

“You want me to leave them?”

She nodded, a blush creeping onto her cheeks and breasts.

Feyd smiled wickedly. “So be it.”

He did, however, shove them a bit further in, then pulled them back toward him, then repeated the motion over and over again, and she moaned his name, tangling her fingers in her hair. Her walls gripped them all so tightly, so firmly in place. He hummed his approval.

He stopped for a moment and watched as they bobbed and bobbed as her walls continued to clench from the stimulation. Feyd wanted to take her back to their room and stay up all night seeing what other sorts of things she’d enjoyed being shoved and fucked inside of her.

He helped her down from the table, her gown ruined and in tatters on the floor, her cunt filled to the brim, and her skin covered in his dried cum.

He took her hand in his and grabbed the books she had chosen, placing them under his opposite arm before he opened the doors to the library and they exited.

The feeling of utter fullness between Lea’s legs was enough to distract Lea on their way back to their bedroom from instead focusing on the space around them.

Once Feyd unlocked the door, he allowed Lea to enter first, and when he glanced over his shoulder, a feeling of being watched suddenly present, he saw their mother halfway down the hall, knew she had seen his twin covered in him, something protruding from her young cunt.

He gave her a satisfied smile before following Lea inside, shutting the door behind him and locking it.

Lea sat back on the bed, her legs spread apart, hoping Feyd would come give her some form of relief, her clit now swollen. Instead, he went into the bathroom and drew a bath for her. As the water ran, he returned to her, kneeling before their bed where she sat and slowly remove the pens one by one, dropping them onto the floor, until her cunt was just a gaping hole needing desperately to be filled.

Slowly, he eased his fist inside of her and she groaned in satisfaction. He used two fingers to massage her vaginal walls and her toes curled at the sensation. He kissed her clit and she whimpered. “Please, Feyd.”

“Not right now.”

She threw her head back in frustration.

After a few more strokes of his fingers inside of her, he removed his fist and she pouted at the sudden feeling of being empty.

Her twin simply offered her his hand and guided her into the bathroom.

#fic: dune (feyd‚oc)#dune fanfic #feyd rautha fanfic #feyd rautha harkonnen fanfic #dune fanfiction #fey rautha fanfiction #feyd rautha harkonnen fanfiction #t: longfic

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