#Costly Affairs

[pricetagofficial]

How Far We Fall -D.G.

Warnings: Language, angst, mentions of death, child loss, therapy, trauma, attempted murder, poor Tim is caught in the middle of this

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.6K

A/N: You guys voted for the angst, well you got the angst. I don't actually remember how I came up with this. All I remember is that I wanted to write pain, and well here I am!

I am not sorry, you guys wanted this.

Dick couldn’t believe what he was looking at, here you were in front of him with a dagger to his younger brother’s throat, Tim’s throat, and a murderous look in your eyes. 

He watched as Robin squirmed in your hold, desperate to get away but one wrong move and his throat would be slit and there would be no going back. 

Batman tensed beside him, ready for a fight to save his youngest. Somehow, you had gotten past their security and wormed your way into their lives. Somehow, you fit in so well they didn’t even think twice before accepting you. 

That was their mistake. 

“Y/N–” Dick held a hand out, the glove of his suit palm up as if he was trying to convince you to come back to him. “Let him go, and we can talk about this.” 

“Talk? You want to talk?” you scoffed. “Fine then. Why don’t we talk about the reason why we’re here.” 

After years of planning, this was your moment to get back at the Batman. Back at him for everything you’ve lost because of him and his senseless no-killing rule. If he didn’t have that rule, you wouldn’t be holding his youngest at knifepoint threatening to take his son from him, like he took your daughter. 

How could he have been so blind? So smitten with you, the idea of who you were, Dick gave you everything including his secret identity without so much as batting an eye. 

“Y/N, please–” he pleaded, trying to keep his voice from breaking, “He’s just a kid–” 

“So was my daughter!” you screamed, voice echoing off the walls around you. “She was barely a year old and it’s your fucking fault!” 

Dick stopped in his tracks at your words, what were you talking about? After living with you for the last six months, he would have noticed if you had a kid. 

“What are you talking about?” Dick asked, his eyes not leaving you or Tim. 

Your jaw tensed as your eyes flitted past Dick and stared at the man responsible. “Two years ago, October 31st.” 

Halloween, two years ago? Dick looked behind him towards Bruce; he was in Bludhaven at the time, but he heard how bad it was. The Joker and Mad Hatter decided that blowing up a city block or two and dosing them with gas was a good trick-or-treat gift. Bruce struggled hard and kept Robin inside that night. He was about to open his mouth when Bruce spoke up. 

“You were there,” his voice rumbled through the air making your nerves stand on end. 

“Of course I was there.” you hissed. “I was trapped in the rubble for 4 hours, another 3 before they found her.” 

Dick didn’t miss the way your voice wavered, nor the way your grip loosened on the knife. Tim didn’t seem to either, before steadying himself on his feet. 

“I lost the most important person in my life because you can’t keep your fucking city in check.” Your grip on Tim’s cape tightened, pulling him back into you. “And now I’ll take someone important to you.” 

Batman let out an audible growl before Dick jumped between him and yourself. 

“Y/N stop! Think this through!” 

“I have thought it through,” you spoke, voice unnaturally calm despite the circumstances. “You were my original target, Dick.” 

Dick’s blood ran cold at your words, you were planning to kill him? 

 You laughed. “But somehow you wriggled your way into my heart and I couldn’t kill you, so I had to improvise.” 

“So you kidnap a child to prove a point?” 

“I’m fourteen,” 

“Not now, Tim.”

You hardened your gaze, “There’s no going back for me, Dick. This is where it ends.” 

Daring to take a step towards you, Dick pulled the mask off his eyes. 

“Nightwing–” 

“Bruce now is not the time.” Turning his attention back on you, Dick kept a calm look on his face despite the terror coursing through him. He failed one brother, he couldn’t fail another. 

“Come back with me. Let Tim go and we can go home and forget this ever happened.” 

You scoffed. “Do you think I’m stupid? I know how this works. The second I let the kid go, he’s going to go running to you while Batman leaves me a bloody pulp for the police to find.” 

Dick sighed, dropping his head before he looked at you once more. “You’re right, we can’t just forget this. But we can get you help, get you to the right people.” 

Pressing the knife to Tim’s throat, you felt him tense under your hold. “I’m not going to that hellhole you call Arkham.” 

Taking another step, Dick shook his head. “No, not Arkham. But the second you hurt Tim, I can’t stop them from sending you there.” 

Swallowing hard, you took a look around. What were you doing? Dick had a point, Tim was a child no matter how many times he pointed out to you how old he was. Were you really going to kill him because Batman was responsible for the death of your baby?

Meeting Dick’s eyes again, you could see why he removed the mask. It was so you could see the expression in them, the longing, the hope that you would let his brother go and take his hand. 

The blue in his eyes stood out in the darkness around you, almost matching the blue of his suit. After all this, did he really think the two of you could go back to what you were before? He really trusted you enough not to try something like this again?

“Trust me, Y/N. Please?” 

Hearing those words, you dropped the knife. 

Immediately, Tim darted forward past Dick to Bruce. Dick was on his knees, catching you as your weight gave in and you collapsed into his arms. 

Unable to stop the tears, you cried into Dick’s chest. “It’s not fair!” 

Running a hand through your hair, Dick held you as you cried. Placing a kiss on the crown of your head, he closed his eyes. 

“I know baby, I know it’s not.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Months passed and true to his word, Dick got you the help you needed without going to Arkham. Your relationship was strained but on the mend. No matter how much he promised it would all be okay, you knew they wouldn’t forget let alone forgive the fact that you tried to kill Tim out of revenge. 

You lost count of how many times you apologized to him and Bruce, knowing it wouldn’t change a thing. Not for a while at least. 

Keeping your part of the promise, you sought help professionally at least once a week. Your session that afternoon wasn’t bad, but it was exhausting. Recounting the events of that Halloween to someone again drained all the energy you had left within you.

You were currently standing on the balcony of your apartment when you heard a soft thud behind you. Hearing the sound of light footsteps behind you, you felt a pair of hands rest on your shoulders. 

“Hey, what are you doing up this late?” 

Dick’s voice was tired but laced with worry, worry for you and your sleeping habits. He must have just finished his patrol for the night. 

Placing a hand on his, you smiled softly. It meant a lot that Dick stuck around when anyone else would have left you by this point. You felt a pair of lips brush your cheek before you were pulled back into his hold, warm and safe. 

“I’m okay, Dickie.” you hummed. “Just thinking I guess,” 

You didn’t have to see the look on Dick’s face to know that he was frowning. 

“You should be asleep,” he started. 

“I tried,” 

Dick sighed and rested his head on your shoulder. “I know it’s hard when I’m not there, but you have to try.” 

“Dick please, don’t start this tonight,” you begged, turning to bury your face in his chest. “I don’t have the energy for it.” 

Wrapping his arms around you fully, Dick held you close. The nightmares must have been bad this time if you were refusing to try again without him near you. Placing a kiss on the top of your head, Dick led you inside. 

“Alright, let me just get changed and we can catch some z’s together okay?” 

Nodding slowly, you let go of him but kept a grip on his fingers. The only time you let go of his hand was when he had to pull off his suit. Once he had sweats on, Dick pulled you along to the couch and rested you on top of his chest. 

Slowly you melted into his warmth as he turned on the T.V. letting the old reruns play as you listened to the sound of his heartbeat. 

Now that Dick knew the full story, he could see all the symptoms and signs you gave him from the very beginning. It was surprising how he missed them in the first place, with the way you left things around the place it was almost as if you wanted to be caught before it was too late. 

After a while, he heard the soft sounds of your breath against his bare chest and smiled softly. This was the only way you could sleep, with him next to you. Dick promised he was going to help you, and help is what you were going to get. 

Of course, Dick got the biggest lecture from Bruce, for the millionth time about why we don’t flaunt secret identities around. But Dick knew he could trust you. What he wanted to know was if you could trust him. 

Dick knew that death and loss made people do crazy things, he had been down that path before when his parents died, and again when Jason died. It was a hard one to come back from, but Dick planned on being there for you every step of the way, for as long as you would let him.

@bluejay-the-geek @niggxrette @offendedfishnoises @restwellsoon @littleredwing89

#costly affairs #dick grayson #nightwing #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #dick grayson x you #nightwing x you #dick grayson x y/n #nightwing x y/n #dick grayson reader insert #nightwing reader insert #dick grayson angst #nightwing angst #tim drake #batman #dc comics

[weeabooofficial]

Eren Yeager and his Immaculate Ability to be a Nuisance. -J.K. [18+]

Tags: smut, closet sex, cockblocking, Eren should be a warning on his own, dirty talk, language, modern au

Pairing: Jean Kirstein x Reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.3K

A/N: Hi, hello. I'm not fucking dead like y'all thought. 2023 threw me for a loop with my writing, and then I had every intention of posting this for my birthday, back in July (If that tells you how long I have had this sitting in my docs). And then I wanted to post this in celebration of the finale of AoT coming out...

and then I fucking hated how it ended and had a four hour long rant over it.

So here we are in 2024, and I am finally posting this. Big thanks to my bff (best fishy friend) @offendedfishnoises for helping me with this all those months ago.

Eren Yeager must have thought he was a fucking genius, a comedic genius. Why else would he keep pulling the same bullshit over and over? 

It all started when you first met Jean, your friend was throwing a party at her apartment and you decided to go. The two of you met, and hit it off really well. So well in fact, that you and Jean were officially dating by the end of the month. 

Everyone seemed happy for you, everyone but one person. 

That person just so happened to be, Eren fucking Yeager. 

You and Eren had been friends for years, since you were children. It was only a matter of time before he took you getting into a relationship with the person he loved to annoy most, personally. To you, Eren took everything personally but that was just the way he seemed. 

Eren cared for you, he really did. Growing up together, as close as friends could be, he just wanted you to be taken care of. 

However, it wasn’t his fault that his favorite pastime was pissing Jean off to no end. 

You didn’t notice what he was doing at first, it being the occasional interruption while you were having a moment with your boyfriend, but it only escalated from there. 

It was Sasha’s annual Christmas Party, everyone in your friend group was invited and then some; to include you and Jean. The snow was falling, and the two of you were curled up together on the couch in front of the warm fire. 

Jean’s hand rested on your thigh, just wanting to keep you close. Your head was on his shoulder, inhaling his warm, musky scent that made your nerves tingle. 

You didn’t even get five minutes alone together before Eren came in with a plate filled with sweets and squeezed himself in between the two of you on the couch. 

This was fine, you told yourself. Eren was always like this, but that was before it got worse. 

By the end of the night, not only was Eren between you; but Armin, Mikasa, Sasha, Connie, Reiner, Annie, Berdtholdt, everyone you knew was squished between you and Jean, forcing you on opposite ends of the couch with the arms digging into your side as they chatted away. 

Jean shot you a look from the other side of the room, a sorrowful smile on his face. It wasn’t like you could actually do anything to stop all of them from sitting between you, but you knew exactly what they were doing. 

Eren was making it his life’s mission to make sure you and Jean didn’t have a moment alone together, and you didn’t realize how bad it would get until it was too late. 

No matter where you were, at work, the store, even at your apartment, every time you and Jean tried to do more than share a kiss, Eren was there butting his way in. 

Of course, Jean was angry and rightfully so. All he wanted to do was share a moment alone with you, and he was starting to get desperate. 

“Babe, this is getting fucking ridiculous. He is your friend. Stop him.” 

You stopped folding the shirt in your hands and gave Jean a look, “You’re friends with him too dumbass, besides what makes you think he will listen to me?” 

Putting the shirt he had in the stack, Jean shrugged. “I dunno, I thought you would maybe scare the shit out of him like you do everyone else.” 

“I do not–” 

“Connie and Sasha refused to talk to you for the first week you scared them so bad.” 

You gave Jean an unimpressed look. “That’s because I told them to stay out of my pantry, it’s not a free for all.” 

A grin found its way on Jean’s face. “But you’ll let me into your pantry,” Wrapping his arms around your waist, he waggled his eyebrows giving you that look. 

Before he got any further, you shoved his head away with your palm on his face. “Any chance you had getting laid tonight, ended with that comment.” 

Jean looked at you with a pout on his lips, “Aw come on babe, you know you can’t resist me.” 

“I can and will,” you hummed, continuing to fold the clothes. 

You loved Eren, you really did. Even when he was being a little shit, you cared for him like a brother.

But that love was dwindling, and it was dwindling fast. 

There was only so much you could take, between your job at the office and Jean’s at the family company, you almost never saw each other. That left no time to talk, not time together and no time for romance. 

And with Eren making his presence known every single fucking time you were close to doing anything, your patience was wearing thin. 

Jean was just as desperate as you were, so when you showed up one day with lunch wearing a tight little skirt and killer heels to match, Jean all but dragged you to the closest closet and locked the door. 

His lips were on yours in a matter of seconds as he bunched the bottom of your skirt towards your hips. 

Jean’s touch on your thighs was like fire, with weeks of denial igniting it within you. Prying your mouth open with his own, Jean slotted his hips between yours as he swallowed each little sound you made. 

“Fuck–” you gasped against his lips, feeling his cock grind against your heat through his pants. The rough material adding friction to the area which desperately needed attention. 

“Jean please–” you begged, hands gripping the back of his shirt pulling at the material as if it was personally offending you. 

With a hand still holding you against the wall, Jean made quick work of undoing the belt of his pants before popping the button and pulling the zipper. 

“Hold on baby, I’ll take care of you.” Shoving his pants down just enough, his cock sprung out of his pants slapping against the skin of your thigh. Jean moved the string of your thong aside and swiped his fingers through your folds. 

A gasp tore through you, your body jolting in his hold. 

“Fuck–” he choked, feeling your slick pool between your thighs. “This pussy is already so wet for me, you that desperate for my cock?” 

His breath fanned over your face as you ground your hips against his hands, pulling at the hairs on the nape of his neck as he thrusted two digits into your cunt. 

“Jean–Jean please!” you begged, looking up at him with those pleading eyes that had him so weak, he’d do whatever you wanted. 

Banging his fist against the wall, Jean couldn’t ignore the doe-eyed look you had. So sweet, so innocent, when he knew you were anything but in the privacy of your own home. 

Jean knew the way you looked when you were bent over, taking his cock round after round begging him for more; to fill you with his hot cum to the point it spilled out around his shaft. Jean knew the way you looked, when you were on your knees sucking his cock like it was your day job. The way your pretty lashes fluttered up at him as you made sinful movements with that devilish tongue of yours that had him bucking his hips making you gag around him. 

It was the same way you were looking at him, and he had barely touched you. 

Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, Jean thought of making you wait this long again if it got you looking like this for him once more. 

Using his hips, and other hand, Jean hoisted you higher up his hips before thrusting into you. The sounds you made made his head spin, fuck you sounded to pretty too. Biting his fist that was against the wall, Jean held in his moans as he watched you absolutely lose it finally being able to feel him this deeply within you. 

You paid no mind to the uncomfortable feeling of your skirt pressing against your stomach as you began to rock your hips, wordlessly trying to convince him to go deeper. 

“Fuck–, missed this pussy so bad.” his breath tingled against your ear, wracking your body in shudders as he continued to thrust his hips, stretching you to take his cock.

Your moans filled the closet, the soft grunts Jean made in your ear as he fucked you for the first time in what felt like forever. Hands grabbing at whatever you could reach, you pulled his lips down to yours, senses filled with the smell of his cologne and the taste of his morning coffee on his tongue as it bullied its way into your mouth, laying his claim on you. 

Jean’s hand moved from your waist, to the button up blouse you were wearing. “Wanna see these pretty tits baby–” he gasped between kisses. “Wanna hold them, play with them, squeeze them. You’d like that, yeah?” 

All you could manage was a nod as Jean ripped the buttons of your blouse open, a few popping off and landing on the floor. Neither of you cared, as he hastily pulled your bra down your shoulders and chest until he could grasp your tits in his hands. 

The sounds from the hall outside were drowned out by the blood pumping in your ears, not caring one bit who heard Jean fucking you senseless in a tiny closet. The two of you were so lost in the feeling of each other's bodies, you didn’t notice the lock get picked with the handle slowly turning before you were blinded by light coming in from the hall. 

Jean quickly used his body to cover yours, keeping your dignity intact not caring about his one bit. 

Over his shoulder, you saw the face of Eren Fucking Yeager and the slight smirk in his face when he realized what he caught the two of you doing. 

“I was wondering where–” 

“Get the fuck out Yeager,” Jean hissed, grateful that his arms were filled with you so he couldn’t turn around and knock his teeth in. 

“Oh come on, Jean. You don’t want to share?” 

That was your last straw. 

“Eren, get lost or I will rip your dick off and feed it to the dogs.” 

You watched the expression on his face morph from his usual cocky confidence, to a flicker of fear. It was a far-fetched threat, sure, but with the death glare you were giving him, Eren wasn’t sure if you were serious or not. 

And he didn’t want to find out. 

Clearing his throat, Eren suddenly looked away before shutting the closet. “Carry on,” before you heard it lock once again. 

Only taking a few seconds to recover, Jean readjusted his grip on you before looking down at you with a grin. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think with the way your pussy tightened around my dick that you actually liked getting caught.” 

Immediately, your face got hot. Shaking your head, you opened your mouth to respond before it was cut off with Jean grabbing your jaw at an angle that kept your mouth open. 

“Don’t bother lying baby, I know you liked it.” 

Your eyes widened at the look on his face, squirming under his heated gaze. “No I–” 

“Maybe I should fuck you in my office next time,” he hummed. Within moments, Jean pulled out of you before flipping your body around and thrusting into you from behind. “Bend you over the desk, taking you like this for hours as everyone around us hears how well you take my cock, hm?” 

Bracing yourself on the wall, you couldn’t ignore the way your walls fluttered around his dick when he said those words. 

Jean chuckled, wrapping his arms around you pressing his hips into your ass as he fondled your tits. Enjoying the little gasp you let out feeling him tug on your nipples, you arched into his touch feeling a hand travel up your chest and throat before forcing two of his fingers in your mouth. 

“Maybe, I could have you suck me off with this pretty little tongue of yours.” Your mouth was forced open, his fingers pressing down on your tongue refusing to let your moans be softened. Jean wanted to hear every sound you made, as he speared you open on his dick. 

The moans you let out had Jean cursing, his hips stuttering as he got close to the edge. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? Sucking me off under my desk as you hump my foot, desperate for me to touch you?” 

You tried pleading with him, your orgasm so close now that you were incoherent. A couple more thrusts of his hips as you choking out his name as your orgasm washed over you in a violent wave of ecstasy, coating his dick in the creamy white substance. 

“Fuck, baby. Just a little more and I’ll fill you so full, it’ll drip down your legs.” 

The debauched moan you let out was drowned out by Jean’s grunts and growls as he kept pistoning his hips against yours, before he came with a loud cry, burying himself to the hilt making sure you took every drop of his seed. 

As the room quieted down, you heard his breaths in your ear as Jean pressed kisses to your shoulder. 

“You–,” he panted, “You are so fucking amazing baby.” 

You were at a loss for words, nothing on your mind but how good it felt to be filled by Jean. Tilting your face to look at him, Jean smiled down at you while his bangs hung in his face. “I love you so fucking much,” 

Smiling against his lips, you hummed in agreement. “I love you, too.”

Tag list: Because I must bully you all with my writng, suck it up and love me anyway. @pinksthetics @awalkingshame @hex-the-rabbit @meowzfordayz @nanaoise08squad@loafingdragon @narakussy

#Costly Affairs #Jean Kirstein #Jean kirstein x reader #jean kirstein fanfic #jean kirstein fic #jean kirstein fanfiction #jean kirstein reader insert #jean kirstein x you #jean kirstein x y/n #attack on titan fic #aot fic #jean kitstein smut #attack on titan smut #aot smut

[headspace-hotel]

you know how people say "cats domesticated themselves?" I find this statement irksome because as i've been studying plants and particularly weeds, a theory has slowly been forming in my head about domestication that makes a lot more sense than other theories.

Basically, I think everything domesticated itself. Or rather, domestication involves adaptation and active participation on both sides.

Evidence for this is found in studying weed and crop plants—truth be told, most weeds are or were also crops.

Amaranthus, the genus that gives us the most costly USA agricultural weeds? All edible and healthy, and several members of the genus are domesticated. They were staple crops for Mesoamerican empires.

Kudzu, the vine so aggressive in the USA it turns trees into looming kudzu monoliths? It's been bred and cultivated by humans since the Neolithic in its native range, in China it was one of the main sources of fiber for cloth for MILLENNIA to the point that the Zhou dynasty had a whole government office of kudzu affairs. Kudzu roots are edible and they can be as tall as a human and weighing over 200 pounds, you can make them into flour, make noodles out of the flour, you can process them down into a starch and use it just like potato or tapioca starch and make all sorts of sauces and confections and stuff out of it. In Japan it was used for clothes too, if you see pictures of clothes worn by a samurai that's probably kudzu! It has loads of unresearched phytochemicals that probably have medicinal use, it's good for making paper, a researcher even made a biodegradable alternative to plastic out of it

Yellow Nutsedge is a food crop, Purslane is a food crop, at least some species of morning-glories are food crops, crabgrass is a food crop, Nettles are food AND fiber, Milkweed is food and fiber too, Broadleaf Plantain is food and medicinal, Dandelion is food and medicinal AND great companion plant (they used to sell them in seed catalogues around the 1890's or so!) and have y'all ever seen queen-anne's-lace along the side of the road? THATS CARROTS. That's the wild ancestor of carrots! (ofc don't eat anything you aren't 1000% sure you can identify)

Simply put. A weed is a plant that has co-evolved with humans. And most of them are Like That because they co-evolved with us. And honestly I reckon that many plants were domesticated in the first place because they liked to grow in disturbed environments near human settlements and agricultural fields.

Now thinking about this in terms of animals...when our domestic species were first domesticated, there weren't fences, there wasn't "inside" or any controlled environment to bring animals into, and if you tried to overpower or coerce any of those species, they would 100% just kill you. It makes a lot more sense if the humans were just following herds around, and it gradually developed into protecting those herds from predators and tending to them more intentionally until we were kind of just part of the herds ourselves.

a lot of people are familiar with Biblical stories and metaphors about shepherds...it's clear those guys were basically living with sheep 24/7. They were assimilated to the sheep lifestyle.

this theory kinda suggests that we've lost the ability to domesticate new animal species to some extent because domestication has never really involved removing an animal from its natural environment. Feeding wild animals and trying to socialize them to humans isn't in line with the mutualistic nature of domestication because it's trying to change the animal to our whims, and usually decreases the fitness of the animal rather than increases it. And domestication probably takes a long long time to reach the level where an animal can be a "pet" instead of a more distant form of domestication where the association is not as close.

EXCEPT. Animals that adapt to our environment are prime candidates for domestication. This actually checks out because rats and mice are some of the most recently domesticated animals, iirc. Basically, pest animals are the most likely to be domesticated because they've already started evolving into a relationship with us. Just like weeds.

An interesting side note is how both animals and plants can de-domesticate and become "weeds/pests" again. Like "weedy rice" is becoming a problem in some crops where rice has evolved into a weed. And with animals, there's pigeons who were domesticated by us and now their habitat is cities because they co-evolved with us.

#random

[capybaracorn]

Sweden resumes aid to UNRWA as Israel steps up Gaza attacks

First payment of $20m to be disbursed after Sweden gets assurances of the UNRWA’s checks on spending and personnel.

(9 Mar 2024)

Sweden has said it is resuming aid to the cash-strapped United Nations agency for Palestinians with an initial disbursement of $20m after receiving assurances of extra checks on its spending and personnel.

The UN Relief and Works Agency for Palestinian Refugees in the Near East (UNRWA), the main humanitarian agency in Gaza, faced an unprecedented funding crisis after its major international donors led by the United States cut its funding over “terror” allegations.

Like several other countries, Sweden suspended aid to the UNRWA after Israel accused about a dozen of its employees of involvement in the October 7 Hamas-led attack before the conflict in Gaza.

Sweden said on Saturday that “the government has allocated 400 million kronor to UNRWA for the year 2024. Today’s decision concerns a first payment of 200 million kronor ($19.4)”.

To unblock the aid, the UNRWA had agreed to “allow controls, independent audits, to strengthen internal supervision and extra controls of personnel”, the government said.

[See article for embedded video] The Swedish move came after the European Commission earlier this month said it would release 50 million euros ($54.7m) in UNRWA funding.

On Friday, Canada announced it was lifting a freeze on funding for the UNRWA, after it joined the US, the United Kingdom and other countries in cutting aid in late January.

“The agency is at risk of death, it is risking dismantlement,” the UNRWA chief Philippe Lazzarini told Swiss broadcaster RTS in an interview aired on Saturday.

“What is at stake is the fate of the Palestinians today in Gaza in the short term who are going through an absolutely unprecedented humanitarian crisis.”

The UNRWA has been at the centre of efforts to providing humanitarian relief in Gaza, where the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs reported last month that at least half a million – or one in four people – face famine.

Israel has severely restricted the entry of humanitarian aid into Gaza by land, prompting the US and other countries to resort to stopgap measures such as airdropping meals into the enclave.

Such steps by the US, Jordan, the United Arab Emirates and Egypt have been criticised by aid agencies as a costly and ineffective way of delivering food and medical supplies.

The UNRWA has said that Israeli authorities have not allowed it to deliver supplies to the north of the Strip since January 23.

Al Jazeera’s Hani Mahmoud reported that in northern Gaza “we are seeing children dying in this enforced starvation and dehydration due to the famine spreading”.

He said on Saturday that three more children died at al-Shifa Hospital, as a result of starvation and dehydration, increasing the number of such deaths to 23.

At least 30,960 Palestinians have been killed and 72,524 injured in Israeli attacks on Gaza since October 7. The death toll in Israel from Hamas’s October 7 attacks stands at 1,139, and dozens continue to be held captive.

[See article for embedded video]

#palestine #free palestine #save palestine #gaza #free gaza #save gaza #world news #current events #israeli apartheid #israel palestine conflict #israel #unrwa #unrwafunding #genocide #gaza genocide #palestinian genocide #stop the genocide #war on gaza #gaza strip #gazaunderattack #palestine genocide #humanitarian crisis #humanitarian aid #human rights

[0bticeo]

lurk | feyd rautha

part two of five. (part one.) (part three.) (part four.)

summary:

the edge of the blade is sharp. a pinprick of pain blossoms above your carotid. but…

“it’s not sharp enough.”

he blinks. slowly, his lips curl in a smile. your gaze flits to them. to the plush lower lip, to the arch of his cupid’s bow. to their predatory edge. you’ll cut yourself if you get too close. maybe you need to take a step forward.

“what will you have me do?”

“pardon?”

“to sharpen it. should i fetch the incapable wretch who forged them?” his grin sharpens. you feel his blade cut through skin. “or should i use you?”

wc. 3k

tw. blood, death, manipulation, knife kink, blood kind (both heavily hinted at), possessive feyd, political machinations, little canon divergent because the atreides actually attend feyd's bday fight (canon dune part 1 one starts a little after that), please read part one first it will all make sense i promise. shoutout to @kpopnstarwars my most beloved you're going to enjoy this. same goes for you @jaiuneamesolitaiire . also please ask questions about reader/the plot i beg of u i need to get this out of my system

you’re falling.

you see white sands engulf you in their sickly warmth, greedy little grains sinking you in.

you’re falling, and there’s a distant roar ringing in your ears. you’re falling, lifeblood escaping you.

you’ve fallen.

black.

you peel your eyelids open. they feel like sandpaper against your eyes, coarse and rough in all ways wrong.

you dream. again.

the past shifts and twists in front of you, ever changing, desert sand falling through your fingers. the more you cling to it, the less you grasp it.

you let yourself fall in the abyss of memory.

you blink.

you stand by your father’s side, gait proud and regal in a dark dress - a convoluted affair of veils and silver. on your breast, the crest of your family - crimson falcon spreading, spreading. you think of blood blooming on your chest and shift, ever so slightly. the cool press of your blade against your forearm soothes you.

you are in troubled waters, after all. 

geidi prime, home to your house’s sworn enemy, the harkonnen. geidi prime, its black sun sucking life out of its inhabitants, monochrome nightmare.

the flight from caladan was costly enough - you can almost hear hawat’s teeth grinding in discontent. a fortune, wasted on harkonen festivities held in honor of the na-baron’s birthday. yet, you must attend. you, betrothed-to-be to a harkonnen.

you’ve heard whispers. hushed conversations between your mother and father, an assessing gaze from the reverend mother herself. it won’t be the baron himself - too old, too sick to produce the desired offspring.

just any other member of that wretched house won’t do either - you are a duke’s daughter, your bloodline mingling with that of the emperor himself.

in the end, it all comes down to the baron’s nephews. 

rabban - brutal. all furious brawns, minimal intellectual capacity, proficient for slaughter if used well.

na-baron feyd-rautha. utterly psychotic. deadly. precise. cunning. watching.

from his position at the baron’s right flank, he assesses you. you, back impossibly straight, hands folded before you, feet spread wide enough to spring to action should the situation go awry.

you, bowing before them, liquid smooth, a hair short of being disgracious.

you’ve only bowed low enough to respect the intricate harkonnen protocol, not to show deference. not to them.

the baron raises his head from his seat, barely. 

“welcome to geidi prime, duke.”

you suppress a twitch. how utterly informal. 

“thank you, baron.”

a shift in the baron’s entourage.

outrage, barely concealed. rabban looks ready to slit your father’s throat. how dare the atreides scum fail to recognize the honor paid to him and his suite?

they’re being left alive, have the privilege of witnessing their beloved na-baron’s coming of age, and still fail to show the due respect?

you let out a slow, drawn out breath. the ceremony will be held in two days. more than enough time for you and your father to be disposed of. 

your lips quirk up. you speak.

“it is always an honor to be invited to festivities in which the emperor partakes.”

feyd-rautha’s eyes are on you. under geidi prime’s soulless sun, they’re white, depthless. a milky way of depraved harkonnen savagery. he bares his teeth with unbrided hunger. you know it to be a threat - you’ve heard of his harpies. 

you think he’ll consume you whole, with the way his gaze scorches your very soul. 

how delightful.

a pulse. the suspensors. slowly, the baron rises from his seat, gargantuan mass towering above you, shadow stretching and stretching until it encompasses all of you. 

“the flight to geidi prime must have been quite draining.”

a tenth of your wealth. he who controls the spice controls the universe. the harkonnen have had arrakis in an iron hold for eight decades. your jaw ticks. bastard.

“escort them to the guest wing.”

servants surge forward. 

feyd-rautha’s gaze burns, sinks in the exposed skin of your back. 

your dream shifts. twists, turns, has you seated at a banquet table.

a feast.

one day left until feyd-rautha’s coming of age.

the guards don’t know how to hold their tongue. they expect a fight - the grandest thing under the sun. 

the emperor’s here, sitting at your table. from the corner of the eye, you observe. he’s been put at the head of the table, the baron at his right, your father at his left. an attempt at appeasing eons old enemy. a failure. yet... 

there’s an air of satisfaction to the emperor. haden’t you be trained in the bene gesserit way, you would have missed it, the way his eyes glimmer like arrakean spice.

finality sinks in as he takes the first bite, knife slicing open the tender flesh of an unknown poultry.

it looks like a falcon.

you take a bite of your own meat. medium rare, the proper way to consume meat. especially venison. princess irulan watches you, gaze assessing. she, too, has been trained in the way.

you smile at her, finger tracing the rim of your glass, spider-pleasantries networking endlessly. you ask her if she enjoyed your gift - a vocal recorder of the highest quality.

her smile is sincere. in the brutal white lighting of the banquet hall, you find yourself wishing things were different.

“how is your brother?”

you grin. you’re being watched.

“he’s grown. still has his back facing the door.”

she scoffs, amused.

“he’ll learn.”

under the artificial light, your wine looks like freshly spilled blood. 

you take a sip and hum. the alcohol burns, sweet little fire settling low in your chest.

“is the wine to your liking, my lady?"

to your credit, you don’t startle. your shoulders tense, your hand freezes in its motion to lower the glass.

na-baron feyd-rautha is at your side, close enough for his breath to tickle your ear. 

“it is, my lord na-baron.”

mine. mine. glacier eyes have you riveted in your seat, needle-like against your throat. mine, mine.

his lady. his to claim, his to wed, his to breed.

you watch lithe fingers curl around his knife and wish you could see him in action. watch the deadly precision he’s so praised for. 

soon. 

twist and shift, until you’re lost in a maze of hallways.

the ceremony is about to start - you can feel the low thrum of thousands of harkonnen roaring their na-baron’s name. shadows pass over you.

it’s cold, this architecture. metal wings stretching, stretching. should you crane your neck, maybe, you’ll watch them disappear in the ceiling. maybe. darkness is a looming cloud - these very walls soak up the light. 

you, yourself, are a shadow. puppet dancing to the whims of whoever holds your strings. bene gesserit. baron vladimir harkonnen. the emperor. 

you feel a storm coming.

you stop. light. an open door. a lone silhouette, porcelain white etched against black. 

feyd-rautha.

he raises his head. sees you. tilts it to the side, lips stretched in a slow grin.

“are you lost, my lady?”

“so it would appear, na-baron.”

a twitch. flicker of annoyance in his eyelid, in the clenching of his jaw, sculpted edge caressed by shadows.

his blade is at your throat before you can make a move. 

time holds its breath. it will snap and bleed raw at your feet, thick rivulets of it.

you will bleed, too.

your lips part, a muted gasp. the edge is sharp. a pinprick of pain blossoms above your carotid. but…

“it’s not sharp enough.”

he blinks. slowly, his lips curl in a smile. your gaze flits to them. to the plush lower lip, to the arch of his cupid’s bow. to their predatory edge. you’ll cut yourself if you get too close. maybe you need to take a step forward.

“what will you have me do?”

“pardon?”

“to sharpen it. should i fetch the incapable wretch who forged them?” his grin sharpens. you feel his blade cut through skin. “or should i use you?”

your heart skips a beat. a droplet of blood trails down your neck, down to your collarbone, down to your breasts. his gaze follows. hungry.

“you’d make quite a mess, na-baron.”

he steps closer. circles you, free hand grazing your hip bone, left bare by your dress. you feel the heat of him. suddenly, you’re acutely aware of his bare chest pressed against you. you suppress a shiver.

“address me properly, my lady.”

he shifts his blade. it presses against your jaw.

“very well, my lord na-baron.”

a pleased hum, like a purr. you tilt your head to the side.

“what will you do, feyd-rautha?”

he turns by a fraction. his lips graze your cheek, a breath away from your mouth. your throat feels dry. they graze there, too, over your carotid, trailing up and up until he’s pressing his cheek to yours, guiding you, helping you see-

carnage.

servants, dressed in white, lying limp on the ground, throat slit with deadly perfection. blood pools on the ground. stretches. oozes from gaping wounds, until it reaches the hem of your dress. 

concubines, three of them - sisters of fate, harpies with broken limbs, lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. they’re smiling, teeth like fangs in the dim lighting of the room.

“help me,” he mutters, voice like a plea. “i will guide you.”

“and if i refuse?"

a low chuckle. deep, raspy. you melt a little inside. 

“you’re brave, my little atreides.”

“you wouldn’t be the first to try to kill me and fail, miserably.”

his arm wraps around your middle, pressing you to him. oh, mother, why did you have to wear a backless dress? you feel each ridge of him, the perfection of a trained warrior, muscles taut from countless hours of training - he’d make sculptors weep with the lethal perfection of him.

“ah, the fabled tale. show me, little atreides.”

“say please.”

his fingers dig in your hip, thumb tracing small circles under the silver threads holding the fabric together.

“please.”

slowly, you raise your arm. the fabric of your dress, a convoluted affair of veils and velvet, slides down your skin. inch by inch, until the treacherous, ragged scar stretches along your forearm. he tenses, feyd-rautha. 

“who did this to you?”

“a fool who underestimated me.”

an assassin.

sent to kill you and your brother as you were running around on the beaches of caladan. who took you first, had you pressed against him, blade at your throat - until you sweetly asked him to

unhand you.

he did. your mastery of the voice wasn’t perfect. you faltered. he struck. you bled. 

killed.

words are the weapons of the weak. 

that, you aren’t.

“how may i help you, feyd-rautha?”

twist, turn, until you’re facing him, holding a bowl of paint. thick, petrol black, it clings to your fingers like a lifeline. feyd-rautha’s hand covers yours. guiding you, dipping your fingers in the paint, raising your hand to his torso.

you flush a little. 

he’s warm. so very warm under your touch. the paint is cool on his skin - you watch him shiver, abdominals contracting, and you trail down, down his pectorals, stopping just short of his navel, lingering over the fabric of his tunic. at his side, his fingers twitch, eager.

“more.”

“where?”

his hand reaches for yours. presses it on his chest. you can feel his heart, steady, strong - fluttering, hummingbird flailing in a cage made of ribs. 

you want him, you realize. you want to consume him whole, sink your teeth in him until you can finally taste. 

“where?”

you have to crane your neck to get a look at his face. something like amusement glimmers in his eyes.

he brings your fingers to his lips. 

you blink.

spread the paint, thumb pressing down the plush of his lips. his lips part, suck you in and bite. 

feyd-rautha watches you, tongue darting out to gather the sweet blood trailing down your hand. he presses a kiss to your palm, lips lingering against the callouses of your skin.

you let out something like a whine. the bowl falls. you never hear it reach the ground.

“you’re making quite a mess.”

bastard.

“you’ll make a bigger one if you’re late, my na-baron.”

twist and turn, again, and again, and again. dreams have meanings, and you won’t let this one escape your grasp.

you’re standing above the ground, in the gaping mouth of a harkonnen arena. on and on it stretches, cold metal sparring against the sky, gnawing at its decimated horizon. ink blots the sky. you think of blood pooling in the water. fireworks.

you step inside the lodge. the guards recognise you - duncan idaho flashes a smile, a sharp quirk of his lips. you nod. they part ways. let you join your father, sit by his side and watch.

the fight hasn’t begun yet.

“you look thoughtful, daughter.”

you look away from the immaculate sand and the thousands of harkonnen roaring their na-baron’s name. feyd-rautha.

your father is watching you, gaze austere. you will not conceal, not from him.

“an alliance with the harkonnen would be beneficial, father.”

silence. you watch the subtle twitch of his eyelid, the flexing of his hand. the guards do not hear. you’ve willed it so on your way in. to them, this is only pleasant chatter between father and daughter. harkonnen slander.

“you will not speak of such matters again.”

“the emperor-”

“enough!”

you keep your mouth shut. your father is a stubborn man, blinded by hatred passed down from generation to generation of atreides. as you should be. 

horns blow. doors part, slide up. in comes feyd-rautha harkonnen, prowling on the wretched grounds of his playing ground. your binoculars zoom in on him. on the ease with which he carries himself, on the perfect arch of his neck as he kneels before the baron.

on harkonnen prisoners making their way towards him. undrugged.

you straighten in your seat.

the guards murmur. they too, have noticed the prisoners walking straight, carrying themselves with entirely too much ease. 

“a bold move. what is the baron planning?”

your father. he’s watching too. all of you are, thousands of gazes riveted on the focal point that is the lone silhouette of feyd-rautha harkonnen. 

you rip your gaze away from him and focus on the baron, a few meters above.

his lips part.

show me who you are, my dear nephew.

he’s fast. too fast for them. you relish in it, the fluidity of his movements, the way his hands tenses with each strike of his blades, bare forearms rippling with tension. one body falls. two. it’s barely been a minute since the fight started. 

you cross your legs and watch, enthralled.

by god, does he fight well.

a reptile, slithering around his opponent, assessing him with the cruel knowledge of his supremacy. shadows loom over them, horned beasts ready to pry his opponent away from him should he prove to be in danger. 

you feel more than you hear his outraged snarl.

“back off!”

that poor soul is his to kill. his gaze flickers upwards. up to the guest lodge, up to you. he bares his teeth in a smile, a flash of black against pure white, and strikes. blood splatters on the ground. a gash opens in the side of the prisoner. he stumbles but doesn’t fall. 

no, he’s a fighter that one. lunches forward to pin the na-baron to the ground, wrestling with him, clawing at his arms, hitting every nerve until the baron drops his blades. he’s laughing. he’s getting the life choked out of him and he’s laughing, shifting until his feet find enough leverage to pull him up. 

there’s a blade at his throat. the prisoner pushes and pushes, unstoppable force against immovable object. on he laughs, feyd. your eyes drops to his lips, where you see droplets of drool drip down his chin. you bite your lip.

feyd seizes the blade with his bare hand and twists. you hear the prisoner’s wrist break before you hear him choke on his own scream, coughing out blood. the dagger’s deep in his throat. it’s the only thing keeping him together - one fluid motion and feyd rautha wrenches it out of torn flesh and raises it above.

his gaze finds yours.

the dream shifts. 

a veil unfolds, parts, until you’re walking the burning sands of arrakis. paul atreides, blood of your blood, flesh of your flesh, stands before you.

his eyes are blue. 

you freeze.

a litany rises. lisan al gaib. your mother’s handicraft and eons of propaganda from the missionaria protectiva did its job well. here stands the one, scalding wind screaming around the looming silhouette of him. 

bodies. bodies, laying on the ground, thousands and thousands of bodies, hands clutching at scorched earth, parched mouths opened in damnation. hunger. they’re dying in paul’s wake. fate will set the galaxy ablaze. fate will make monsters out of you.

“you know what must be done, sister.”

you do. there’s something a little broken in the way you smile at him, palm cradling his face.

“do you, little mouse?”

he’s tired, paul atreides, usul, muad’ib, lisan al gaib. sanctity doesn’t suit him well. he sees, but his eyes are sunken, his cheeks have hollowed out. there’s an edge to him, too. the bene gesserit were right to fear him.

“don’t lose yourself more than you already have, brother.”

it’s too late. 

a jolt.

your eyes wrench open. 

“welcome back, atreides.”

the baron.

#feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha x y/n #feyd rautha x you #dune x reader #dune x you #dune x y/n #obticeo writes #bald freak supremacy

[zapreportsblog]

hi!! can you do volturi x secretary!reader (platonic) who's just TOO GOOD AT HER JOB. she spells carlisle correctly, she doesn't interrupt, and she's like really professional. ALSO YOU FOLLOWED ME BACK LIKE I WAS SO SURRPISRD THANK YOU HAVE A GOOD DAYYAYAYYA

❝she’s just too damn good❞

✭ pairing : volturi x reader

✭ fandom : twilight

✭ summary : (Y/n) is the best damn secretary the volturi could ask for

✭ authors note : aww of course I’d follow you back :)

✭ twilight masterlist

The grand entrance hall of Volterra, Italy, echoed with the weight of centuries-old secrets and power. It was within these ancient stone walls that the Volturi, the ruling vampire coven, held their dominion. Aro, Caius, and Marcus, the three elder vampires who led the coven, sat upon their thrones, their crimson eyes filled with an ageless wisdom.

Their previous secretary had met an unfortunate end, her fate sealed by a single, costly mistake. Now, it was time to find a new secretary, one who could handle the delicate matters that crossed the Volturi's path.

(Y/n), a human with a reputation for competence and diligence, stood before the Volturi leaders. She pushed her glasses up on her face, the light catching the lenses and reflecting an intense determination in her gaze. She had no intention of failing in this prestigious role.

Aro, the most talkative of the trio, addressed her with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I trust you won't follow in our previous secretary's footsteps. Her errors cost her dearly."

(Y/n) met Aro's gaze with unwavering confidence. "No need for the warning, sir. I take my work very seriously. I'm here to ensure that every detail is meticulously attended to."

Caius observed her with a critical eye, his expression stern. "You are aware that our affairs are highly confidential, and discretion is of the utmost importance?"

(Y/n) nodded, her resolve unshaken. "Absolutely, sir. My lips are sealed, and I understand the consequences of breaching that trust."

Marcus, the most reserved of the three, merely regarded her with a measured gaze. "We shall see if your actions align with your words."

(Y/n) straightened her posture, ready to take on her new responsibilities. "You won't be disappointed, gentlemen."

With that, she accepted the role of secretary for the Volturi, stepping into a world of secrecy, power, and ancient vampires. As she walked away, she knew that she had taken on a role unlike any other, one that demanded her utmost dedication and discretion. The reflection of her determination in those glasses was a symbol of the resolve she brought to her new position, one that she intended to uphold at all costs.

(Y/n) settled into her new role as the secretary for the Volturi with a fierce dedication. Her efficiency and attention to detail quickly became apparent to the coven's leaders. Aro, always one to appreciate those who could fulfill his demands promptly, decided to put her to the test.

One afternoon, he strolled into her office, his graceful presence demanding attention. (Y/n) looked up from her desk, her fingers flying across the keyboard of her computer as she organized files and scheduled appointments.

"Ah, (Y/n)," Aro greeted her with his customary smile. "I have a task for you."

(Y/n) nodded, ready to take on any request from her employer. "Of course, master Aro. What do you need?"

Aro explained, "I need you to post an aid about a tour for fifty people for tomorrows feeding, a rather impromptu event. I would like you to schedule it for me.”

(Y/n) didn't miss a beat. She continued typing on her computer, her eyes darting across the screen as she worked her magic with scheduling software. "Consider it done, master Aro."

Aro was taken aback by her speed and efficiency. He had expected this task to take some time, but within mere minutes, (Y/n) turned her screen toward him, displaying a perfectly organized tour for fifty attendees, complete with dates, times, and an itinerary.

His crimson eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and admiration. "You work remarkably fast, (Y/n)."

(Y/n) looked up with a confident smile. "I pride myself on being efficient, master aro. Is there anything else you need?"

Aro chuckled, clearly impressed. "Not at the moment, my dear. Carry on with your excellent work."

As he left her office, (Y/n) couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. She had proven her worth to the Volturi leader, and her efficiency would undoubtedly serve her well in this world of secrecy and power.

In the serene garden of the Volturi castle, Marcus often found solace among the flowers that his late mate had once lovingly tended to. He wandered the garden, lost in his own thoughts, the weight of his immortal life bearing down on him.

One day, as he strolled along the carefully manicured paths, Marcus noticed something extraordinary. The flowers that had once withered away had begun to regrow, vibrant and beautiful as if brought back to life by some unseen force. He couldn't help but be struck by the sight, the memories of his mate's love for these flowers flooding his mind.

Marcus approached a lower guard who was on duty nearby, his curiosity piqued. "Who has been taking care of the garden? These flowers, they are flourishing once more."

The lower guard, a vampire who had served the Volturi for centuries, nodded respectfully to Marcus. "It is the human, my lord."

"The human?" Marcus asked, intrigued. "What is their name?"

The guard, who knew the human by the name the Volturi called her, replied, "The secretary (Y/n), my lord."

Marcus considered this revelation, the name sparking a distant memory. He had heard the name (Y/n) mentioned in passing, but he had paid little attention. Now, it seemed this human was not only tending to the garden but also reviving the memories of his lost mate.

With a nod of appreciation, Marcus continued to admire the blooming flowers, a silent acknowledgment of the human named (Y/n) for her care and dedication. In the garden, among the resurrected blooms, he felt a connection to his past and a glimmer of hope for the future, all thanks to the efforts of this mysterious human.

In the dimly lit halls of the Volturi castle, Caius, one of the coven's leaders, was growing increasingly frustrated. He had been searching for his favorite cloak, a luxurious garment of deep crimson, for what felt like an eternity. His irritation had escalated to the point where his voice echoed through the corridors as he yelled at everyone in his path.

"Where is it? Who has taken my cloak?" he bellowed, his tone venomous.

Vampires scurried to avoid his wrath, their wide-eyed expressions betraying their fear of their temperamental leader.

In the midst of the chaos, a soft and calm voice cut through the tension. "(Y/n)," Caius snapped, his crimson eyes narrowing as he turned to face the human secretary, "(Y/n), have you seen my cloak? I cannot find it anywhere."

(Y/n) stepped forward, holding Caius's missing cloak draped carefully over her arm. Her voice was composed, unruffled by his outburst. "Master Caius, you left this in your office. I've noticed it had specks of dried blood on it, so I've had it dried clean."

Caius was momentarily taken aback, his anger dissipating as he processed her words. He couldn't believe it. The usually distant and indifferent human secretary had not only found his cloak but had taken it upon herself to ensure it was cleaned.

"(Y/n)," Caius said, his voice softer now, "you did this for me?"

(Y/n) nodded, her gaze steady as she met his crimson eyes. "Of course, Master Caius. It's my duty to assist in any way I can."

Caius, still in disbelief, reached out to take the cloak from her arm. His fingers brushed against hers, and he felt a strange, unfamiliar sensation stir within him. He couldn't deny that her thoughtfulness had left a mark on him, one that he couldn't easily dismiss.

As (Y/n) excused herself and left the hallway, Caius watched her retreating figure with a newfound appreciation. It was a small gesture, but one that had touched him deeply, and he couldn't help but wonder if there was more to this human secretary than met the eye.

The grand trial room within the Volturi castle was filled with a weighty silence as the three kings, Aro, Caius, and Marcus, gathered for a discussion. The subject of their conversation was none other than their human secretary, (Y/n).

"She's good at her job, almost too damn good," Aro commented, his eyes gleaming with intrigue. "I can't seem to find a simple mistake in her work."

Caius nodded in agreement. "She's quick, and her work is effective. It seems we'll be keeping her around long-term."

Marcus, who often remained silent, offered his approval with a subtle nod.

The kings reached a unanimous decision. They would offer (Y/n) a gift, one that would bind her to the Volturi for eternity. They sent their most trusted enforcers, the twins Alec and Jane, to fetch her.

Alec and Jane, swift and efficient as always, found (Y/n) in her office. They approached her with the precision of a well-practiced routine.

"(Y/n)," Alec began, his tone even, "the masters request your presence in the trial room."

(Y/n) blinked in surprise but complied, following the twins to the room where the three kings awaited.

Once inside, (Y/n) stood before the Volturi leaders, her heart pounding with anticipation. Aro spoke first, his voice dripping with charm.

"(Y/n), in the short months you have been with us, your dedication and efficiency have impressed us greatly," Aro said, his crimson eyes locked onto hers. "We value your contributions, and we would like to offer you a gift."

(Y/n) couldn't hide her surprise. "A gift, masters?"

Caius stepped forward, his gaze unwavering. "We offer you immortality, (Y/n). A chance to join our coven as one of us."

The offer hung in the air, a life-altering decision that (Y/n) had never expected. She considered her options carefully, her thoughts racing. The weight of eternity was a heavy burden to bear, but the allure of becoming part of the Volturi coven was undeniable.

After a moment of reflection, (Y/n) finally spoke. "I'm not sure what to say, masters, but thank you for the offer."

With her acceptance, the kings nodded in approval. The twins, Alec and Jane, moved closer, their hands lightly touching her body. “Alec -“ aro calls out and in second Alec has (y/n) wrapped in his dark smoke, her senses numbing within seconds. “Don’t worry dear, it’ll be over in no time.”

Over the course of three days, (Y/n) underwent the agonizing process of the vampire transformation. She endured the fire of change, sometimes which were numbed by Alec per the kings request and now she was emerging from the ordeal as a newborn vampire, her senses heightened and her existence forever entwined with the Volturi.

As her eyes fluttered open in her new immortal life, (Y/n) realized that she had become a permanent part of the Volturi coven, her loyalty and dedication recognized in the most profound way possible.

#x reader #x reader one shot #x reader oneshot #twilight imagine #twilight x reader #twilight imagines #twilight masterlist #twilight x you #twilight x y/n #twilight scenario #twilight volturi #the volturi #alec volturi #aro volturi #jane volturi #volturi coven #volturi imagines #volturi imagine #caius volturi #marcus volturi #volturi x you #volturi x reader #volturi x y/n

[botanicalsword]

House ruler in 5H • where to find love

5th House

Theme: Love, Children, Your Talents, Adventure, Speculation, Entertainment, Gambling, Sports, Creative Activities.

Related occupations: Actor, artist, athlete, etc

Chart ruler in 5H

In romantic relationships, they are proactive pursuers, expressing their feelings with enthusiasm and sincerity. They are unafraid to showcase their emotions, bravely pursuing their love interest.

2H ruler in 5H

Relationships can be costly, but with harmonious 5H aspects, they can be profitable, transforming love's cost into an opportunity. However, if there’s challenging aspects in 5H, they could incur substantial losses, possibly leading to distress and a feeling of helplessness.

3H ruler in 5H

In love, they often choose friends, neighbors, classmates, or childhood friends due to shared experiences, memories, and understanding. Developing these relationships can foster trust, understanding, and friendship, aiding romantic growth.

4H ruler in 5H

Most of their relationships are formed through introductions by family, friends, or fellow townspeople with common backgrounds. They rarely interact with people whose environments and experiences differ significantly from theirs. Their relationships are usually not with people from other locations.

5H ruler in 5H

Their love life is thriving, fostering strong relationships and potential romantic encounters, with support from family and friends.

6H ruler in 5H

Romantic relationships often develop in office environments, where deep connections can form. While this may add complexity, it can also lead to their satisfaction and happiness at work.

7H ruler in 5H

They may potentially marry their beloved, not through matchmaking, but by experiencing love's joys and trials to find their soulmate.

8H ruler in 5H

In a romantic relationship, sexual activity often occurs frequently. If complications arise in the 5H / 8H, there's a risk of deception involving both emotions and property. This could lead to substantial material losses and becoming overly entangled in their feelings of love.

9H ruler in 5H

It's easy to have long-distance relationships, online relationships, or even interracial ones.

10H ruler in 5H

There is a possibility of dating a boss. They may experience an office romance, a special circumstance where they meet and fall in love at work, causing sweetness and contradictions.

11H ruler in 5H

Their community ties could open up exciting romantic possibilities, potentially leading to a complex love triangle, adding intrigue and anticipation to their relationships.

12H ruler in 5H

Their emotional lives, filled with unexpected twists, include complex love triangles, potential infidelity, and possible love affairs, adding uncertainty to their love path.

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[shirkers2018dirsanditan]

My wife and I have been married for 50 years; she has been “at death’s door” for the last 30 of them and institutionalized for the past seven years because of her poor health. She’s 68, and I’m 71. There has been no love or intimacy for the past 10 years. We can’t afford to divorce. I am raising three grandkids that we adopted. The two older kids are intellectually disabled because of fetal alcohol syndrome and will never live independently. My wife will never leave the nursing home. She has full mental capacities but is also the most narcissistic person I know. I did have a steady live-in girlfriend for over a year, but she and I broke up because she had a tough time dealing with my kids. Am I wrong to seek love, intimacy and companionship with another woman? My wife has had affairs while we were married. — Name Withheld

From the Ethicist: A lawyer could advise you about the legal implications, but putting aside the formalities, if you and your wife were willing to release each other from your marital obligations, there would be no moral reason not to seek a relationship elsewhere. It sounds, though, as if you think she won’t release you from them. You don’t really explain why this is the case. (This also relates to whether you can afford a divorce: An uncontested one needn’t be very costly.) You say there has been no love between you for the past decade; is this also her perspective? Someone in an institutional setting, certainly, has reason to fear abandonment. If the situation is as you describe, you should have an open conversation with her about your feelings — and about her needs and concerns. We have the concept of a common-law marriage, when two people live together effectively as if they were married. Perhaps what we need here is the idea of a common-law divorce. But your finding love elsewhere needn’t entail cutting off a vulnerable spouse.

you would not believe the number of comments defending this man lol. he won't divorce her because he wants her money. she's been "at death's door" for three decades?? the way he expected his mistress to take care of his grandchildren??? the AFTER the fact he's like. well she cheated first. which is real convenient to tack on at the end. the implication that her staying in the nursing home is proof of her narcissism? men should be legally prohibited from marrying women

#good grief #vows mean absolutely nothing to them for one

[fourthwifematerial]

garden of forking paths | 四 | part i. guilty

yandere lord tengen x fourth wife, eiji. word count: 7,077. explicit content. 18+ MDNI

man proposes, heaven disposes.

please be mindful of the ample warnings as we're all responsible for curating our own fandom experience✌️ this chapter contains ultimatums & coercion of an intimate nature, deception, forced marriage, dubious consent on all fronts, foreplay, degradation, consummation & deflowering, forced orgasms, self harm (not in the way you might be thinking) & scarification, nonsexual voyeurism, an off screen rape & accompanying aftermath, murder, threats of suicide, and a very apologetic author for taking on another behemoth when she still has works in progress

She’s never worn a piece so fine as her sister’s wedding kimono. 

Bathed in white, the shiromuku settles heavily on her body and soul… A chilling wave passes through her as she stares herself down in the mirror. Crown to cunt, settling deep in her gut. Her nerves are at a fever pitch, threatening to boil over and lash out at any moment.

She hardly recognizes the woman staring back at her. Hardly an easy feat for one such as Eiji. The heavens saw fit to bring flesh to her reflection, one she was forced to protect their whole lives.

On their worst days, Emiko was more her charge than blood. A painful reality for the younger of the two. Years spent in her shadow, ready to strike those that would see her harmed. For flowers so lovely as the twins, it was ugly work in the Red Light District.

No. Her looks were always a matter of contempt rather than ignorance. The bride is abundantly aware of what she looks like.

The palette, however, is new.

A traditional visage for a traditional bride. Something the girls at the brothels were never granted beyond the realm of a marriage born from ashinuke or a buyout.

She couldn’t give into the temptation to touch. She wouldn’t risk damaging the canvas, eyes and lips painted as they were.

There was little need for it before all this. It wasn’t something she ever envied or missed. The closest she came to seeing herself with a full face was her sister. 

Still. Not a trace of either sibling in the looking glass.

Eiji has never looked so beautiful. Nor as frightened.

Even through the beads of sweat lining her temples, she was grateful for the katsura wig concealing her sparse hairs. Remnants of her days in the Sisterhood, her cut had yet to grow past her ears. Her keeper was generous enough to postpone the marriage until after their wounds had healed.

It wouldn’t do for the ruse to end on such a glaring oversight. 

The pins adorning the piece look costly. Too extravagant for one as modest as Sister Eiji. Hazarding a guess, it looked to be worth more than a month’s wages at the brothel.

Cocking her head to the side, her eyes catch on the embroidered flowers that rest upon the uchikake. The sharp angles and thorns give birth to a dangerous suggestion.

“Not enough…”

She gives voice to the intrusive thought before thinking better of it. Seppuku is on the girl’s mind, though she’s not fool enough to follow through. Would that she could and spare herself the devastation of this whole affair.

A delicate touch presses on her shoulder. It’s soft, but there’s an edge… as if the owner doesn’t have the strength for a proper scolding.

“Remember what this is for,” breathes a hushed voice of admonishment. “If I’m to marry him, I’ll never forgive you.”

Standing vigil is her better half. Wrapped in more fabrics than she’s accustomed; her kimono a muted black, with what little she has left of her once prized locs concealed under a zukin. The wimple is an unassuming periwinkle. Nearly so blue as the virgin snow.

While Eiji might dance with the idea, Emiko has every intention of bedding it. Neither sister needs the reminder… 

Even once more and I’ll die. By my own hand if need be.

The threat lingers unspoken between them. Emiko draws back her hand, holding the wataboshi with a white knuckled grip to match. Placing the bridal hood upon her sister’s head, she collects herself with a sniff. 

They meet each other’s gazes in the mirror, color on their lids nearly matching at this point. While one wore rouge, the other bore far less intent. Her eyes are red rimmed from endless days and nights spent sobbing. The anger and resentment, the fear, the loathing—it’ll end her life before the blade has a chance to. 

Placing the bridal hood upon her sister’s head, Emiko nods in approval.

“You’re ready.” Her voice is broken, still shot from the fight. 

Drying the twin tracks running down her cheeks, she lets her go.

No processional. No one to give her away. No tears in tribute.

She doesn’t even see their betrothed until the purification rites. 

For as taboo as it sounds, she doesn’t consider Lord Uzui to be her husband. All the same, she’ll take her sister’s place as his lady wife. She has no choice, not if she wants to keep her alive and unmolested.

It’s all she can do to keep her sister in her prayers as she draws water into the chouyuza’s ladle, washing their sins clean. Twice, in as many hishaku, before rinsing her mouth with a third.

Uzui works himself over in silent tandem. Much as she’s loath to admit it, his refined montsuki haori and golden hakama make the man striking… gorgeous, even. His starlight hair was worn up when last she saw him. And now it rests, barely grazing his broad shoulders. 

This is the closest she’s been to someone of the opposite sex who wasn’t a client. He hardly made a favorable impression to start. She didn’t know him well enough now to gauge his intent. Whether she’s walking into a den of wolves or a field of rabbits strikes her as a mystery she wouldn’t solve until he was already inside her, she’s sure of it.

Their union is a somber affair before the Shinto priest. Intimate. Tense. Almost severe.

The priest gives the blessings. 

With the marriage announcement, Uzui bows where they stand. She realizes too late that she missed the prayers in favor of the mounting anxieties taking root. Nudging her out of her daze, she follows suit. Muscle memory and a lifetime of obedience takes her hand and guides the path before her. 

The saké teases her lips and she finds herself tempted to drink before long. It’s not until passing off the small and medium cup that they are permitted to imbibe. She focuses on her throat, still burning from the alcohol as they move on to the rings. It keeps her present of mind enough to fulfill the task she’s been charged with.

A ring is slid on her finger. His handling isn’t rough with her but he’s hardly gentle. When she does the same, she notes the calluses on his battle-worn hands—a testament to his years spent honing his skills in combat.

The warmth throws her. She stills beneath his touch… Even worse when he’s cast his garnet gaze on her like that. With that smile on his lips, he almost looks fond. He turns her hand over and gives her wrist a small caress, far more tender than he’d been with the rings.

She has the grace to blush. The watashobi only allows her so much coverage from his prying eyes, so she takes advantage where she can. His vows barely register. When it’s her turn, her voice is a hollow echo of the priest’s dictation.

“I will marry this man,” he says.

“I will marry this man.”

“No matter what may come, I will love him, console him, help him. Until death.” 

“No matter… No matter what may come, I will love him. Console him. Help him… Until death.”

“These things, I swear.”

“These things… I swear.”

The shrine maiden presents twin Sakaki branches to the couple. In turn, they place the branches upon the altar. Together they bow twice and clap in quick succession. 

With the stinging of her palms and roar of her ears, it’s over.

It’s finally over.

In every other respect, this is only the beginning.

There was before Tengen… and after.

In another life, she might have been simple… a simple girl of simple means, grown into a simple woman.

What bliss.

No simple girl would ever endure the hand fate had dealt her. They’d never even know it’s touch, let alone see the blow coming.

Back when Eiji had a purpose, she was a nun.

Her mandate was as simple as things went for her. Find your sister, they told her. Find her, mind her. The task proved easier said than done for an Oiran in the brothels of Yoshiwara.

No. If she was anything like the girls to grow up not knowing any better, she’d have thought it a heavenly night. 

The scene was a deep wash of cerulean and coal; falling snow aglow with what moonlight peered behind the kawara roof. A contoured edge ran crisp over the engawa, shadows and flakes stopping in tandem before she could so much as wet her feet.

It was the tenderest mercy she would be afforded in a place such as this.

The languid stream of smoke bled from her lips, too soon to think over another drag as she set her gaze on the abyssal sky.

Her brows furrowed, eyes pleading the heavens for intervention when she couldn’t will the tragic whimpers and panicked groans from breaching the walls.

The only warmth known to her was the burn between her fingers and the fury in her veins, neither poison more bitter than the last. 

If her lungs didn’t fail her, it was bound to be her heart.

After a terribly violent gasp, Eiji tossed the remains of her cigarillo into the mounting snow, the pressing need for quiet far surpassing any desire for escapism. Flush palms ran over the veil concealing her ears. 

Enmeshed in a deathbed of white, the snuffed out embers found themselves buried under the fresh flakes. 

“Stop it.” A whispered bid—painful as it was fruitless. She broke on the words, knowing they’d never reach the bedroom. “Put her out of her misery, damn you.”

If that fucker didn’t come soon, she was going to have to finish the job. Tear the stuck pig limb from limb, out of the frying pan and into the fires of Hell. He would bleed for this.

She wouldn’t betray her vows. She only sought to avenge her sister’s rape. Nothing more, nothing less.

You can’t afford to fall apart. You know she can feel you. You have to be strong for her.

And before she could make good on that promise, there was nothing. Not a breath, not a sound.

The silence was deafening and nearly so oppressive as the screams.

The divine stall, dutifully prostrate before the raging tempest. 

Any relief felt was dead on arrival. She knew better than to get comfortable. Her shoulders were still wound tight as a bow primed for the shot. Tense and waiting. 

Rooms away, Eiji could hear the pleas so viscerally… 

“Eiji—” she cried, her voice a death rattle that cut to the marrow. “Sister… Help me.”

                                 a crash in the distance.

                                 a whisper of fabric on the 

                                 wind. 

                                 the final screams to prelude              

                                 disaster.

The shoji was barely ajar before she’d pushed her way inside. She rushed past the hall of incredulous voyeurs, all with the same questions on their minds and lips.

She didn’t even know where they’d put her tonight. She had to follow the commotion like a dog after a vendor in the streets.

Desperate. Near rabid with its goal to fulfill. Out for blood.

If she centered herself, she could be by her side in an instant.

But her mind was racing. She had no time, no focus. All of her being narrowed on the sole objective of leaving this place for good.

Ashinuke beckoned with an outstretched palm whose finger curled so seductively, there was no need to ask twice.

The door flew open with a shout, “Emiko!”

She surveyed the room. Save the cowering fuck in the corner, it was a barren sight.

Dragging him by the collar of his disheveled robe, she hauled his sweating hull from the ground.

“Tell me where they took her,” she demanded. “I’ll gut you, I swear it.”

He shook beneath her. When the night air kissed the tracks on her cheeks, she didn’t have to look hard. There was a gaping hole in the screen of the shoji, ushering the cold inside.

You cried for me… 

She shook the memory, focusing solely on the path ahead of her. Her entire world fixated on what little she could see from outside the door; a mere pinprick of vision in that busted screen. All she was able to manage were the snapping swords of some third party who’d entered the fray.

The pig squealed, fear coursing through him at the prospect of a fight.

“Useless,” she spat.

Blood came when the words failed him. The blade from her sleeve made fast work of disposing his filth without preamble or mercy.

                                       sank into his ear… 

                                       pull out game for

                                       the gods.

                                       …dragged across 

                                       his throat.

He slumped pitifully at her feet, exsanguinating below her turning frame. She was already following after the chaos—dried her tears and righted the cloth just under her eyes.

The body was still warm as she made for the biting cold.

Eiji sullied the courtyard’s pristine canvas. She ran as fast as her feet could carry her. Didn’t make it very far in the dark; someone flew overhead, missing her entirely. 

What should have urged her all the more only brought her to her knees.

She couldn’t afford to falter like this, not when the wager was her sister’s life. 

“No one’s after you,” she muttered to herself. “There’s no time for this… Get up.”

She had to press on. So why couldn’t she move?

Eiji refused to give way to the fear. Surveying the perimeter, there was little to be done and less to be seen.

It had to be now.

Closing her eyes, she leveled her breath. Slow. Deliberate. 

She emptied her lungs with a hiss in her throat and put her all into seeking Emiko out.

With the rolling of her stomach subsided, she picked herself off the street. 

Nails bit crescent moons into the meat of her palms, arms trailing behind her as she took off into the direction she foresaw. 

She felt her. She saw her in mind’s eye. 

Smelled the cracked wood in the air. Burnt, not yet ablaze. 

Blood… so much blood.

Eiji found her before too long, limbs akimbo under the caved-in front of a vacant business.

Her sister wasn’t alone. Shock coursed through her as she took it all in.

Three women crowded the body. One at her head, keeping her still, as the others made quiet work of removing the debris from her broken form.

She didn’t have to turn to know they were less alone than the moments that had passed. “Is she dead?” The man asked, feckless to a fault.

He was an eager one, wasn’t he. If this had been out of character for the man, if he’d been a stranger to them… surely they would have reacted.

The smallest among the women only threw herself at him with tears in her eyes.

“Lord Tengen,” she sobbed. “We couldn’t find the lair. I’m so sorry.”

He nodded towards Emiko, his eyes never straying from her unconscious frame. “And the girl?”

“An Oiran.” The name fell from Eiji’s lips with the ease and vitriol of a curse, “Kyogoku House.”

Every stranger encountered this night turned to her, suddenly occurring to them she was worth acknowledging at all. Turned on her just as quickly.

“Kakushi are meant to be seen… not heard,” he warned with a snap, all bitterness.

An incredulous echo fell from her lips, “Kakushi?”

He pinned her down, swiftly and effectively cutting the indignant echo from the root.

“Now what did I just say.” 

The man towering over wasn’t asking, not remotely. He looked at her nearly expectant, all but daring her for a response.

Thick arms neutralized the struggle, pressing into her to drive the point home. Voice lowered in tandem with his head, the words in her ears enough to fill her gut with coal. 

“If you’re going to interrupt, at least make it worth my while. Might just be tempted to take matters into my own hands and modify the offense.”

“Don’t. Please… stop. You can’t touch her. Please don’t touch her.”

Eyes fell shut as she laid witness to the swan song rasping from her sister’s bruised lips. 

Tears streamed, hot and itching. Time slowed to a crawl. “Emiko. Forget about me,” she bade. “You have to save your strength.”

Gravel dug into her cheek the rougher he forced her down. A hitch in her breath. Eiji kept her gaze fixed ahead, locked on the carnage. 

The women on assist weren’t concerned with lowering their voices. 

“The hell’s a nun doing in the Red Light District?” 

“You can’t say that in front of her, idiot.”

She burned under the heat of their scrutiny. Even more as his touch grazed her prone form, searching for weapons. It seemed he’d been blessed with brains to match his brawn and beauty after all.

“You’ve got red on you,” he noted. “You must have seen something.”

“Not my blood.” The words ran cold on her tongue. Near metallic as the blood staining her veil. “He’s dead now.”

“And the demon spared you after it fed?”

“Sir, there was no demon.”

He turned her over. Crouched over her thighs, urging her to continue.

“Patron. Something took her and he was a shit witness. I eliminated my sister’s rapist. If you have complaints, I suggest you keep them to yourself.”

“Eliminated, huh?” He pressed, incredulous. His eyes returned to the women tending to Emiko’s injuries. “Don’t suppose she’s one of ours?”

His aubergine companion spoke with unbidden ease. “Lord Tengen.” A pressing gentleness, as if shepherding apoplectic cats in their twilight years rather than the man straddling her. “In polite society, there are certainly ways to extract such information.” 

He eyed her beneath his rippling thighs. Considered the account she’d woven for him. “You really don’t know anything?”

“If I knew what you were talking about, I’d tell you.” She met his gaze, beseeching. “Please, just help my sister. Kill me for my crime if you must, but please… She needs to leave this place.”

When the weight on her thighs was suddenly relieved, she had little time to breathe. He loomed over her, making fast work of tossing her over his shoulder.

“Don’t go getting too dramatic on me, Sister. Isn’t blind faith supposed to be your thing?” He gave her backside a condescending slap before taking off.

Too burnt out from the fight to argue, she merely allowed herself to be lulled by his hellish pace.

She hadn’t slept in so long. The push and pull of the jostle took her back to that day.

Fractured memories of the shore. She was no more than a child then. Now a woman grown, the bitter cold kissed her cheeks.

She looked out on the water’s edge. The drag of the waves. The crash as they touched back down.

Walking into the sea, she collapsed. Falling onto her knees, the water soaked her kimono. She abandoned her zukin, letting the habit drift away. When she looked down, there was an isolated pool of blood.

Her eyes widened, hands shaking as she dragged her touch underneath. The source of the bleed was heavy. She pulled desperately, fighting the mounting tide and her own limitations. 

When it breached the surface, she was loathed to lose her grip.

She knew that face. She wore that face. 

Realization dawned on her and she was all the more desperate to retrieve what the watery grave that saw to claim from her. 

Limp in her arms. On death’s door, if she hadn’t crossed the Sanzu River already. When she opened her eyes, they were worse than void—they were dead.

Eiji woke with a start, her own eyes locked on the ceiling of the infirmary with a scream locked in her throat.

The medical wing remained so unclouded, so quiet, there was a small part of her that considered she might be dead already.

Eyes blinking into consciousness, she wondered to herself how everything got so fucked.

“The prodigal daughter wakes,” came a rasping welcome.

“Emiko!”

She nearly tripped over herself trying to reach out to her; the hand beckoning her closer so small under the covers. 

Closing the distance between them, Eiji was treated to a slap to the cheek. She didn’t even register it at first. Her expression thrown, ears roaring. 

“You’ve killed me, bringing me here.” Her voice was as weak as her will to live. “Good as signed my death warrant, you bitch.”

Eiji stared in shock before it hit her as one thousand blows.

She was asleep.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t protect her. Hell, she was barely able to find her on time. She’d failed her and the burning realization that there might be more threatens to consume her.

“What happened while I was out?”

Emiko turned away with a hiss—either from aching injuries or her own malcontent, she’ll never tell. “You heard what Lord Tengen said,” she groused. “Demons and the like. He works to annihilate them…”

Her throat went dry in an instant. “What?”

“Sissy, I’m tired.”

Already having rolled to her side and brought the bedding past her ears, Emiko’s eyes pooled. She let the tears fall away from view but couldn’t hide the way her shoulders shook.

exhaustion. trauma. betrayal.

Thoughts swirled in a vicious cycle. She was as furious as she was suicidal.

exhaustion. trauma. betrayal.

The unspoken reverie was loud enough to hear even separated from the bond their blood allowed.

exhaustion. trauma. betrayal.

It was all Eiji could do to crawl into bed with her, arms wrapped around her trembling body. 

“Are you more angry that I couldn’t save you… or that I did?”

“Don’t be stupid.” Emiko rolled to face her sister, curling tight against her as a babe to its mother. 

“Too late,” she teased gently. Her voice is gentle as the touch that ran up and down her back. “Then tell me. What is it?”

“Just cursing the heavens for damning us with this face and body. And all the bastards who came before Uzui.”

Eiji kept her eyes on the wavering fist curled around the sterile linens they both wore. Trailing her fingers up her back, she brings her palm to her sister’s hair. Pulled her in close, stroking her scalp. She said nothing, merely gave her the means to speak.

“He’s a Hashira. Former Shinobi, by his own account.”

“Shinobi,” she echoed, incredulous. Aren’t they meant to be a dying breed?

“I can’t deliver on the promise I made. I was coerced into accepting his hand, it was the only payment he wanted…” Emiko kept talking over her, vision clouded as if in a daze. “I couldn’t just let him kill you… we needed safe passage.”

A fresh tremor coursed through her. The sight chilled Eiji’s blood.

Bloodshot eyes nearly so vacant as her dream stared back. She didn’t have to hear it to know. 

“Emiko… look at me.” She was desperate with tears of her own threatening to break.

“I can’t go through this again. I refuse. Even once more and I’ll die. By my own hand if necessary.”

Her head shook, stunned to silence.

“Those women are his wives. Says I should get used to them.”

“I can’t let you go through with this!” She refuted further, “I won’t. Not for my sake.”

Holding her hands flush against her ears, Emiko’s eyes shut. Face twisting in anguish and grief, she pushes away from her. “Sleep first, then dream.”

“I’m not dreaming. I’m pleading… Let me help you.”

“You don’t understand,” Emiko argued. “That night… It left me with scars, scars you haven’t seen. He saw me. He saw all of me.”

Eiji’s face flushed with anger. “He fucked you?”

“No… He only kept me talking while I was bandaged. Said he wants to wait until the wedding night to touch me.”

“Show me,” she insisted. “If he’s seen it, I need to see.”

It’s a beat before either moved, let alone spoke. Eiji pushed herself off the bed to stand on shaky ground. She was wary, but didn’t argue. Her sister looked away in a pastiche of offered modesty.

“You can look,” she prompted, voice faint.

When Eiji returned her gaze, visions of that night returned with a vengeance. 

pierced. mutilated. shattered.

Breaking on a sob, she saw her under the roof collapse so vividly as she did that night.

pierced. mutilated. shattered.

Her sister’s skin was tattooed, marred with the visible representation of her own failure. Hypertrophic scars cut around her waist. A contracture piece gnarled on her back. Superficial grazes claw across her breasts. 

pierced. mutilated. shattered.

She had to avert her eyes, choking on her own shame. She would never forgive herself. 

Head raised to the heavens, she was anywhere else.

“The Madame will never have me back now,” Emiko noted wryly. “At least there’s one good thing out of this mess, even if it won’t last—”

With the shattering of glass, the words died in her throat. It took seconds for her eyes to catch up, watching her sister follow after the broken vase. Eiji was there, already on the ground. There seemed to be no rhyme, reason, nor method to her madness.

“What are you doing?”

She sifted through the rubbish on hands and knees, seeking out the perfect instrument for her needs. She’d have to start soon while the sight was fresh in her mind… The rest were tossed aside.

“I’m not letting you down again.”

“What does that even mean?” She pleaded, “Eiji, stop… You’re scaring me.”

And still, she refused her. Not until hope was secured.

Lord Uzui ushers his bride inside the bedchamber, quickly sliding the door shut behind him.

no prying eyes, no vying wives.

Eiji makes to sit on the marital bed, still lost to the events of the day. It’s an absolute miracle her knees haven’t given out already.

“Not so fast.” 

The command chills her to the marrow. He’s behind her before she can react, let alone flee. Uzui pins her in place, a belt of his corded arms wrapping around her middle. Despite the warmth, she’s frozen in place as she stiffly shies from his touch. 

His voice in her ears only drags her further. “Let me look at you.”

It’s not permission he’s after. He’s taking what he wants tonight.

Kissing down the column of her neck, he gives her tit a rough pinch. The assault punches a groan out of her throat, “Lord Tengen, please.”

“Look at that. My prized whore acting like a virgin for her husband. How quaint is this.”

“I just don’t want to sully the garments.” She pushes past the fear and finds her voice. “With all your wives, I don’t see you stopping at four… who knows when you’ll need it again.”

The man drops his arms. There’s a soft sound, almost muffled. She looks over her shoulder and he’s laughing behind a manicured fist. Her eyes widen, the whiplash becoming all too much to bear.

He watches her, watching him. He doesn’t react to being caught. Doesn’t scold her or tease. Merely lowers his hand, leaving only a seductive beam in its wake as he leans forward to take the wataboshi hood from her head.

His gaze lingers on her lips. Before he thinks to act on base impulse and desires, he turns to place the hood away for safekeeping. She trails after him and shirks off the uchikake, offers him the robe and fan. Fingertips graze, earning a hum of anticipation from her husband.

“If you’d prefer me not to do the rest, I suggest you undress yourself.”

She bows. “Thank you, Lord Tengen.”

“Your respect and frugality are refreshing.” A sigh escapes him. “With any hope, you’ll rub off on the others… In more ways than one, I imagine. And I can imagine quite a lot.”

Her cheeks flush at the suggestion. 

He gropes her ass as he passes, already stripping as he takes his spectator’s seat at the foot of the bed. Uzui watches her as an expectant beast would his prey. She takes a steadying breath when he bids her to start.

Eiji thinks of the shamisen players in the brothels. She wills the strings to the forefront of her mind. Her eyes are closed as she tugs at the knot of her obi-jime… 

No more than a feather on the stream, the silken cord spills to the floor with unbidden ease. 

Her ivory obi joins the pool of fabric at her feet. She gives herself over to the music, abandoning her nerves.

Deftly unfastening the datejime leaves her kimono hanging loose. She sheds the rest like a second skin, stepping out of her confines in only her slip of a nagajuban.

More than a chrysalis. A rebirth.

The juban is her only defense. She knows it’s guileless to hope, to dream. It’s all she could have wanted just to keep her sister from the bedchamber.

No. She will do what needs to be done.

When the last whisper of cloth leaves her exposed, she’s quick to cover herself. A futile gesture born from her days in the convent.

A hand catches her wrist and she’s far too exhausted to fight him. Neither for her body, nor her modesty.

Fingers curl around her own as he guides her to the bed. Pushing her gently, back flush against the futon, he holds her in check with only his right hand; keeping her arms raised so nothing might obstruct his view.

He appraises every inch of her flesh, taking his left to explore with the pad of his touch.

neck and collarbone. sternum. breasts.

Kneading her aching tit, Uzui nods in approval. “Scratches are gone,” he notes. “Didn’t even leave a scar.”

her ribs. her waist. 

He traces the lesion with reverence. “I’m sorry I wasn’t of more use to you then.”

The words tumble from her lips before she can stop them. “You’re blameless,” she says under her breath. 

“Come again?”

“My… my sister. She feels every bit of shame for that night. There’s nothing left. Please don’t trouble yourself.”

Moments pass without a word. Just when she’s about to take it all back, he’s pressing kisses into the worst of it.

Eiji chokes on a whine, eyes widening in shock. “Ah!”

“I think your sister would disagree with you there,” he whispers tenderly against her belly. “I only met her once but she looked like she wanted to kill me for even breathing the same air as you.”

Her heart stutters in her chest, conflicted between the sensations roiling through her and the threat of being found out. She keeps her mouth shut. Neither pleasure nor information would pass her lips. Not when she’s come so far… 

She would not let her down again.

Once she found the ideal shard of glass, she made fast work of undressing herself.

“What are you going to do?” Emiko asked desperately.

Eiji walked to her sister’s bedside. She caressed her face. “I’m going to protect you.”

She returned to her own bed, drawing the curtains around her.

Before she lost her nerve, she pressed the glass into herself. She kept digging the piece further inside until she was certain it would take.

She ignored the cries and pleas of her sister. She had to do this. She had to make this right.

With a trembling fist curled around the bloodied glass, she took a leveling breath. 

“Once more,” she urged herself.

She dragged the piece along her back, piercing herself to the hilt. Eiji didn’t need a reference to know. She’d never forget for as long as she lived… It would take her a great deal longer to forgive herself.

Falling to her knees, she curled in on herself… With her body shaking from the shock of it, the deed was finally done.

“Never… Never…”

He laps at the trail of pink with his lips, relishing what reactions slip past her schooled features.

“Even still, it’s healed up nicely,” Uzui remarks, dragging her back with him. “Clean margins, not a trace of infection.”

“You certainly know your way around a battered woman.”

“If you recall, my girls are former Kunoichi. Scars are a part of the work culture… You’ll fit in perfectly, my little prize.”

Eiji masks her disgust with a breathy titter. “And here I thought I’d scared you away,” she quips.

“Thought or hoped?”

With those three little words, the room chills around her. She won’t allow herself to falter.

“I am but a traumatized woman.” A dangerous answer to feed a dangerous question. “You don’t think they're mutually exclusive?” 

He bullies her legs open with the mass of his bicep. Abandoning her arms, he locks her in place with a firm hold on her hip. Rakes his nails against the meat of her thigh, all too quick to soothe the path with his tongue, just as before.

“Answer me,” he growls against her.

Before she can think better of it, she pushes against his shoulder. He buries his face in her cunt, undaunted by her silent protests. 

One swipe of his tongue and she’s gone.

“I… I thought!” Her thighs tighten around him, despite herself. “We had—ngg! We had a… a deal—”

A harsh slap to thigh has her opening back up for him. She stifles a cry behind a shaking palm. He carries on batting at her clit in rapid succession, her groan turning helpless when he buries himself past his knuckles. 

Two fingers with a wail on the third, too thick as they scissor inside.

She’s anywhere else.

The cacophony of noises bleeding from her lips has her mind racing in tandem with her pulse.

Unrelenting pleasure. Blinding sin.

He makes quick work slinging her legs over his shoulders. Colors her thighs with his affections, cups her cunt. She jerks further into the assault.

Propping himself on the balls of his feet, he suckles his fingers. Uzui laves up the juices, savoring every morsel of her essence. 

“And you’d never do anything to rescind a deal, would you, sweet Emiko.”

She doesn’t answer, doesn’t dare dignify him with a response. If Uzui wants to go fishing, he can drown in her silence for all she cares.

Slow to start, he presses down and teases her all the more. Middle finger lapping her juices, he fucks them deeper every time. His wrist twists without resistance. It’s all she hears. He latches onto her clit, a steady staccato of tongue and teeth with his forearm shining with sweat and her own wetness.

Bracing for the forced release, she maintains a white knuckle grip on the sheets beneath her.

Thighs shaking. Stomach tensing. But it’s over before she can fall over that razor thin edge.

He pulls out without mercy, without warning. She sobs at the loss, sweat beading along her temples and brow.

Uzui takes his time spreading her lips, appreciating her cunt twitching around nothing apart from a watchful eye and wandering touch to match. He slaps her tit, diving back into the fray. She’d scream if she thought it would help.

She’s never felt anything like it. 

His nose prods her clit while he gives her a tongue lashing she’s never known. He laps up her juices like a condemned man drinking his last.

Hooking his fingers, Eiji sees white. She came under him and he fucked her right through it, fingering her while spreading his idle hand over her middle. His pinky caresses her scar with such care, almost worship.

It takes her far too long to register he’s been grinding into her splayed thigh.

He’s hot on her bare skin, heavy and thick… She doesn’t have to see him to know.

As if he can read her trepidation like a damn book, he takes her hand and drags it encouragingly over his cock. “You can touch,” he offers.

She says nothing, denying him all the more. Pushing against his advances, she means to end this encounter. Any longer, she fears he may see fit to fuck her into the little hours.

He pushes her back no less than three times before relenting. Fed up with her efforts, he scoffs angrily. “Should’ve brought Suma in to sit on your face,” he laments, all petulance.

Tossing her over his shoulder, he settles her before the bureau. 

“Hands against the wood,” he instructs her curtly, nodding where he wants her. Damn bastard’s already slotting a knee between her legs. “Forearms, too.”

When she does so, he roughly forces her back into an arch. Eiji hears the whistle of the strike before the pain registers. Feels the dresser’s chill graze her nipples before the burn on her bottom. She grits her teeth, detaching herself from the scene.

His touch roves across the handprint left behind before drawing back to hit her again.

Appreciating the canvas before him is a short lived reward.

One hand with an iron grip on her chin forces her attentions. He pinches and gropes what he can reach with the other, the taunting lilt of his voice never leaving her.

“Open those eyes.” The order sends tingles down her spine. “Let me see my gorgeous bride.”

Another thrashing leaves her crying out. He tightens around her jaw, tears flowing freely now.

She does as he commands, her deep brown gaze at last meeting his scrutiny.

It’s when she catches sight of herself in the mirror that her resolve nearly crumbles at his fingertips.

where did emiko end…

                                      …where did eiji begin?

He takes her in his arms, flush against her back as he cages her against the dresser. Uzui sucks a bruise just under her ear, his eyes never leaving the mirror. He feeds his cock inside her, ears singing with every scratch of her nail against the wood. 

A rough gasp tears its way through her. Eiji remains frozen to his whims as he callously fills her to the hilt. Barely four thrusts as he meets no resistance.

He can’t help but groan at the sight of her. 

Stuck-still, she’s too shocked to move, to speak or breathe. 

It’s not long before he tires of her cockwarming and his grunts fill the room with a renewed pace. One sharp snap begot the rest and her cunt fell so tight around him.

He sets a punishing staccato, the sounds of them filling the room in a symphony gone wrong. Coaxing the cries from her, Uzui kept pushing and pushing… bottoming out until he was coming apart himself. 

“How can a whore like you be so damn tight,” he murmurs, nearly slurring his abuses. “All that work getting you open? What a waste…”

Beads of sweat make a mess of his forehead, the silver strands of his hair catching on his skin. She flushes beneath him as he nears his release.

“Keep those eyes on me,” he commands. “I want you to see who’s making you come.”

She holds more than her will as she looks at her husband. She holds her contempt. Her rage… Her every motive and intent. That’s why it’s such a shock to them both when she meets him thrust for thrust for thrust. 

even as the wooden borough grates against the floor and wall. even as he works his spit inside her asshole.

“Fucking close—”

He throws his head back with a trembling exhale and stuttering hips. Eiji’s unbidden wails fall on deaf ears as he spills his seed.

His shaking breath echoes off the walls in a strange marriage of ecstasy and quiet discontent. Would that he could, he’d stay buried inside her forever. 

Uzui pulls out with a hiss, beyond loath to leave her pristine warmth. Releasing her, his gaze falls to their combined fluids trailing down her legs. He spreads her cheeks, reveling in the sight of his debauched bride.

Spent. Humiliated. Done. Eiji rests her weary head against the wood, between her trembling hands.

No blood, she relishes inwardly… with Lord Tengen none the wiser, Eiji has fulfilled her duty. If there was a shadow of a doubt, it’s gone now. He wouldn’t find proof of her innocence. It was gone by her own hand the day she gave herself her sister’s scars. 

Kisses press against her spine, all the way down to her tailbone. He massages her bruised and bruising flesh while huffing in the musk of their consummation. She twitches under his watchful eye and it’s all the prompting he needs to dive back in for seconds, albeit gently this time.

The deft tongue that pleasured her is the deft tongue that cleans her. She doesn’t shy from it this time. He feels the stark contrast as she bears down on his face, grunting his approval as he lazily stokes himself.

It’s not just for her benefit. Tengen knows that despite the closed doors, this intimate moment was always going to be shared.

Not his wives. Not even the heavens.

He knows the nun is sitting vigil at this exact moment, waiting outside those very doors to tend to her battered sister.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure that was her role back in Yoshiwara. Poor girl’s never known the touch of a man, has never come apart by another’s tender care… judging by her disdain that night, she’d likely only ever heard the shameful encounters of brutes and bastards. 

Who was he to deny her? To deny either of them?

If the Sister wanted a show, he’d give that holy voyeur the most flamboyant fucking of her damned life.

Emiko sits beneath a wash of indigo, the stars shining bright enough to spite her. She wrings her hands, anxiously praying he’d be done with her soon. The sun was barely set when they arrived back from the ceremony… He’s had her in there for hours.

It’s all she can do to pray he’d leave her soon enough.

“Stop it.” The familiar prayer falls from her lips, a hush of a bid. She broke on the words as her sister had done so many nights. “Put her out of her misery, damn you.”

In the quiet isolation of the veranda, the only voyeur is the moon above. Emiko weeps for her sister. She weeps for herself.

No one will mind. No one is around to hear it.

#yandere tengen uzui #tengen x oc #tengen x wives x oc #can be read as #tengen x reader #tengen x wives x reader #yandere tengen x reader #for my brown eyed girlies #.garden of forking paths #.shi #honestly the tags are down to a marketing issue... please advise if possible

[pricetagofficial]

Summer Lovin’ -R.H. [18+]

Warnings: Language, smut, Roy really is a menace to society. 

Masterlist

Pairing: Roy Harper x Reader

Word Count: 989

A/N: Big thanks to @offendedfishnoises​ and @littleredwing89​ for proofing this for me! You guys know how much I love Roy, and I really liked how this one came out. 

You stared at the ceiling, your air conditioning was out still and there was nothing you wanted to do more than lay completely naked on your bed while three fans were aimed right at you.

Roy was gone for the afternoon, due to return home any minute now but you were too damn hot to bother moving. If you were lucky, Roy would take one look at you and shrug and join you.

You would bet serious money though that instead, Roy would get horny immediately.

Hearing the lock click on your front door, you shifted on the bed so the cool air hit you more directly.

“Babe? Where you at?”

“Bedroom!” you called.

The sound of footsteps followed, as you saw Roy poke his head around the door frame and his eyes go wide.

“Um, not that I’m complaining or anything–but um–what exactly are you doing?” Roy stepped fully into the doorway, his eyes not leaving the sight of you naked on the bed, perfectly on display for him.

Laying back on the bed, you continued staring at the ceiling. “Air conditioning broke, and it is as hot as Satan’s scrotum in here.”

All Roy could do was blink at your choice of words. “I’m not sure what I should be more concerned about. The fact we need to pay to get the AC fixed again, or the fact that you think Satan’s scrotum is hotter than mine.”

Blowing out a puff of air. “I didn’t need to inflate your ego anymore, or I would have used yours.”

Shrugging, Roy chuckled as he walked in and slid his shoes and shirt off. His god-awful Christmas patterned board shorts were halfway off his hips before he joined you on the bed.

“It’s the middle of July, you complete moron.” you grumbled. “Why the hell are you wearing Christmas shorts?”

“Haven’t you heard of Christmas in July?”

Your reply died on your tongue when you felt Roy’s hot sticky body press against yours.

“Roy William Harper Jr. get your sweaty ass dick off of me!” you shrieked.

His lips trailed up your throat, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I thought you liked my dick,”

“Not when it is triple digits outside.” you whined, leaning into his touch. The front of Roy’s hat pushed against the pillow as Roy slowly sucked a mark on your throat.

“I’ll make you forget all about how hot it is outside, and instead help you focus on how good you’ll feel.”

Well, when he put it like that, how could you resist?

Running your fingers up the back of his neck, you wrapped them around the base of his ponytail coming through the back of his hat. You made a move to take it off, when Roy stopped you.

“The hat stays on, babe.” he grinned, hearing your groan of defiance.

Wrapping his arms around your waist, Roy pulled you closer to him as he ground his hips into your thigh, moaning against the soft skin of your neck.

“You wanna get your dick wet? The hat comes off.” you threatened.

Looking at you with those mischievous green eyes of his, Roy huffed and let you take the hat off his head. Before he knew it, you had flipped him onto his back and wound your fingers into his locks tightly.

Roy’s cock glided through your folds, making both of you moan at the sensation giving Roy’s hair a tug.

His head lolled back as his eyes fluttered shut, exposing his throat to you.

“This is why I wanted the hat off, baby.” you grinned, pulling harder with Roy moaning into the late afternoon air. “I know how much you love having your hair pulled.”

Roy was going to protest, before the head of his cock slipped into your pussy with a harsh tug of his hair.

“Fuck–” he gasped, tightening the grip he had on your waist.

Rolling your hips, you slowly worked his cock deeper into your cunt moaning his name as you went.

“You fill me so good baby–” you panted. “Wanna feel every inch of your thick cock.”

Roy swore he didn’t have a praise kink before he met you. But the way you were pulling his hair, and the sound of the words rolling off your tongue as your pussy squeezed his cock made him whine at your words.

“Your pussy is so good,” he whined, “Feels so–” His words were cut off by you rolling your hips just right that had Roy gasping for air.

“That’s right baby,” you hummed, nibbling on his ear. “Feels so good riding your cock,”

The way you were pulling his hair had Roy lost in his thoughts, chasing his high while you rode his cock for your pleasure. Your nails scraped his scalp every so often with every tug, the way your fingers pulled just the right spot to make him a puddle in your lap.

Pressing your body against his, you could feel your orgasm building along with the way Roy’s cock throbbed within you.

“Cum for me baby,” you gasped, continuing to move your hips.

Roy’s hips bucked up into yours with a loud moan, shooting his load and filling you with his hot cum.

With a cry of his name, you orgasmed riding out your high before collapsing next to him.

You could feel the heat getting to you with the way Roy’s skin stuck to yours, and the flush spreading across his face. Embracing the heat, you curled into his body enjoying the feeling of his body against yours, no matter how hot and sweaty you were.

There was a silence that stretched across the room, the void only filled with the sounds of your breathing and the three fans positioned around the bed.

“We really need to get the AC fixed,” he commented, staring at the ceiling with your head resting on his chest.

“We really do.”

Tag list: @offendedfishnoises​ @littleredwing89​ @niggxrette​ @batarella​ @restwellsoon​ 

#Costly Affairs #Roy Harper x Reader #Roy Harper x y/n #Roy Harper x you #Roy Harper fic #Roy Harper fanfic #roy harper fanfiction #roy harper smut #roy harper #arsenal #Arsenal x reader #Arsenal x you #Arsenal x y/n #arsenal fic #arsenal fanfic #arsenal fanfiction #arsenal smut #DC comics

[weeabooofficial]

Crave [18+]

Warnings: Blood, dark content, toxic relationship, smut, spit, dumbification, Geto really is his own warning here

Pairing: Geto Suguru x Reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 2K

A/N: Y’all I’ve been holding onto this since like December, waiting for S2 of JJK to start, and here we are. I am not lying when I say I was possessed by something when I wrote this. Big thanks to @offendedfishnoises and in the words of @akazaapologist “Brett really said Suguru fucks nasty”

Leaning over the sink, you washed the blood off your hands watching as the red liquid swirled down the drain. Things didn’t go as you expected, but then again did they ever?

The dim lighting of the cheap, run down motel room didn’t do much in the way of visibility but you were used to it. Holing up here together for a few days, you slowly got used to it. The space was cramped but you were comfortable. 

What you weren’t used to, was the man standing only a few feet away from you with his gaze zeroed in on your back. Trying your hardest, you pushed the thoughts of him to the back of your mind; there were more important things to do, like finding a way to get away with murder.

Looking down, you saw the blood on your shirt and let out a sigh. That was another cute shirt ruined. Once your hands were clean, you reached to lift the bottom of your shirt before you felt a pair of hands take your waist.

Jumping in surprise, you turned to see Geto invading your space. His hair was down already, framing his face perfectly and his shirt halfway unbuttoned. 

“G–Geto, I need to–” 

“No need for the formalities sweetheart,” he grinned. 

“Suguru–” his name barely left your lips before he pulled you closer. Watching his name fall from your lips as they sounded each syllable had him ready to make you scream it for hours on end.

You watched as his massive frame caged you in against the wall, dark eyes tracing every movement you made. Before you could even think, you felt a pair of lips on your neck, pulling soft sounds from you. "You have any fucking idea how much I crave you?" His voice rumbled against your throat, making your knees weak.

Supporting your weight with his thigh between your legs, you couldn’t resist the urge to grind your hips against it as he made quick work of ridding you of your shirt. Tossing it behind him, Suguru grinned against the skin of your throat before pulling you along to the musty old bed, the mattress creaking as he almost threw you on it in desperation. 

Barely able to catch your breath, Suguru was on top pinning you down to the mattress as he claimed your lips with his, a low groan rumbling in his chest that had you shivering in place. 

Holding your hands beside your head, Suguru slotted himself between your legs with his hips rutting against yours at a slow rhythmic pace that had you moving in his hold trying to get more. 

Breaking the kiss, Suguru looked down at you and your flustered expression. Lips swollen and kiss-bitten, eyes glossy and the cutest pout he’s seen. With a wink, Suguru took off your pants before moving lower. 

“This pussy so good,” he hummed as he teasingly slid your panties down your thighs. “Can’t wait to eat every last bit of cum I can,” 

Suguru’s filthy words made you squeak in response. No matter how many times he said something like this, you weren’t used to it feeling your face heat up each time. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by Suguru throwing your thighs over his shoulders as he got right down to business and licked several long stripes through your folds effectively taking your breath away. 

Hands flying to his hair, you couldn’t help but pull him closer. Arching into his touch, you couldn’t fight the pleas begging him to keep going. 

“S–Sugu–!” You felt him moan, the sound rumbling against your aching core as he peaked up at you with a dangerous look in his eyes. If you didn’t know better, you’d say Suguru did this for your pleasure. 

But you did know better; Suguru ate pussy for his pleasure, not yours. There was nothing more he wanted than to have his face buried between your thighs at all times; in bed, in the car, hell even at the table. 

Suguru loved the taste of you on his tongue, especially after he’d spent hours fucking you sensless so your cum was streaked with his. The way your thighs would tense around his head, keeping him in place as you pulled his hair drove him further. 

There was nothing he loved more than having you unravel beneath him, reduced to nothing but a whimpering cum-covered mess. And that was exactly what he was going to do. 

Your moans turned into cries, as he brought you closer to your climax almost begging him to let you cum. The way his hands gripped your thighs were sure to leave prints, as he devoured your sweet cunt. 

Barely able to make out the mumbled words over your moans, you heard him say “Mine, all mine.” over and over as his tongue worked you into a state of pure bliss, cumming all over his face. 

The lewd sounds of him slurping up your juices, with the occasional creak of the bed filled the room before he sat up and brushed his hair back with one hand while the other spread your lips to give him a view of his good work. 

“Look at my baby, all worked up with that look on her face.” he hummed, “You’d think I just spent hours fucking you repeatedly.” 

You watched as he removed his fingers from your pussy, and started to unbutton his shirt the rest of the way with your desire leaving stains on the fabric. Suguru knew how to rile you up, and with the way he was looking at you while he undressed had you squirming. 

“Sugu–” you whined, eyes darting down to the v-shaped muscle of his hips where his pants were unbuttoned and his bulge pressing though. 

“Need you, need you in me–” 

There was a deep rumbling sound you knew to be his laughter, clearly amused at the sight of you eyeing him over begging to be filled with his cock. 

Shoving his pants down to his knees, you could see the outline of his cock through his boxers with a wet patch forming. The sight made your mouth water, you needed his cock and you didn’t care where he shoved it. All you knew was that you needed it in you, and you needed it now. 

Using his thighs to keep yours apart, Suguru leaned over you with his hair falling over his face. Having him this close, you could see streaks of your cum coating his mouth and chin, along with a streak of blood over his forehead. You knew he was a messy eater, but this was a different level of messy. 

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” he hummed, pressing his hips against yours making you gasp softly at the contact. 

Opening your mouth to speak, you didn’t get a word out before Suguru pressed his thumb to your tongue with a malicious grin on his face. “Of course you do, why else would you beg for me to fuck you?” 

Moving closer, he pressed his lips to the crook of your neck keeping your mouth open continuing to move his hips against yours. Suguru thrived off the pitiful moans you made, wriggling under his body as he pressed you deeper into the mattress. 

“Look at the way you’re drooling all over my thumb,” slapping your ass with his free hand before moving it up your body to your throat. Pressing your tongue harder, Suguru watched your eyes go wide as he tightened his grip around your throat cutting off your airflow just enough to make your mind go fuzzy. 

“So pretty like this, and all mine.” Removing his thumb from your mouth, Suguru pressed his lips to yours. 

His kiss was intoxicating, pulling every ounce of breath from your lungs as his hips continued to roll against yours, teasing you with the length of his clothed cock. Suguru was dangerous, you knew he was the second you met him. But it wasn’t the murder or the crimes he committed that made him dangerous; it was the way he had you drunk on nothing but his kiss making you pliable in any way he wanted.

The way he kissed you was messy. Messy, nasty and so fucking addicting with how his teeth clashed against yours, spitting in your mouth as he sucked on your tongue claiming you as his in every way he knew how. 

Suguru Geto was toxic, dangerous and it only made you want him more. 

With your fingers tangled in his hair, Suguru only grinned as he slowly removed his boxers, sighing in relief as his cock sprang free bouncing off your hips. 

“Feel what you do to me, huh sweetheart?” he groaned. “Feel how hard you make me with your sweet cunt and pretty little mouth?” 

Whines were the only thing to leave your lips, feeling the swollen tip of his cock stroke through your folds as he teased you mercilessly with the very thought of having inside you, splitting you in half with the sheer size of it. 

“Sugu–Sugu, please–” you nibbled on his lips, tugging on his hair with your thighs pushed up to give him better access. “–hurts how much I need you–” 

A high pitched squeal was pulled from you as Suguru pulled his hips back just enough to rub the head of his cock against your opening, coating it in your sweet nectar. The smell of sex was in the air, as you gasped for breath feeling him bully his fat cock in you slowly thrusting until he was buried to the hilt.

His moans mixed with yours, his breath fanning over your face as he continued his pace keeping his grip on your throat accompanied with the sound of the bed creaking and thudding into the wall with each thrust of his hips. 

“I wanna hear–fuck–wanna hear you say it.” he grunted. “Say you’re mine,” 

“Yours–all yours–” 

Granting you with another kiss, Suguru grinned as he picked up the pace moaning against your lips feeling your nails dig into his back. “That’s my girl, let me hear how good my cock feels stretching that tight little pussy of yours.” 

Your moans picked up, matching the pace of his hips as you clawed down his back crying his name; begging him to keep going. Nothing in your life had ever felt this good, not even when you were drunk trying to forget the horrors you’ve committed. Suguru knew how to make you forget, almost like he was trying to forget himself. 

Hearing his breaths speed up, you knew he was close and from the way you were clinging to him Suguru knew you were too. 

“Come on baby, cum on my cock and let me fill you; stuff you full with mine.” He panted, “Let me mark you as mine, all fucking mine.” 

Nodding your head, you arched into his chest drawing blood from his back as he brought you closer to your climax. 

“You’re mine,” he growled. “If anyone even thinks about touching you, I’ll rip them apart.” 

Listening to his words made you desperate, you’d be lying if you said Suguru’s possessiveness wasn’t hot, or the way he had to be the only one allowed to touch you made you feel things you never have before. 

“Sugu–fuck!” you felt your body shake from the force of your orgasm, panting heavily as he thrusted his hips a few more times before filling you with his hot seed, moaning against the skin of your throat. 

“So fucking good for me baby,” he hummed. “Pussy so fucking good, lips so good–fuck it’s like you were made to take my cock.” 

Your hands were in his hair now, threading it through your fingers as the two of you laid there letting the atmosphere settle around you. Suguru wasn’t a man to say what he was feeling, but the way he pressed soft kisses to the base of your throat as he held you close told you all you needed to know. 

He cared, in his own fucked up way, Suguru cared and that’s what mattered. 

“How about we shower?” you hummed, looking down at him. 

Glancing up at you with those beautifully haunting eyes of his, you could see the smile behind them. “Sounds like a plan sweetheart,”

Taglist: @offendedfishnoises @akazaapologist @pinksthetics @hex-the-rabbit @nanaoise08squad @loafingdragon @awalkingshame @strawberrystepmom (girl you get a tag because I know you’d love it) @meowzfordayz @shinox 

#Costly Affairs #Geto Suguru #Geto Suguru smut #Geto Suguru x reader #Geto Suguru x you #Geto Suguru x y/n #Geto Suguru reader instert #Geto Suguru fic #Geto Suguru fanifc #Geto Suguru fanfiction #Jujutsu Kaisen fic #Jujutsu Kaisen smut

[7-wonders]

8 - "You look like you were jealous" - Subtle Smut Sentence Starters - Morpheus/Dream.

Morpheus never worried about men flirting with the reader because he knows his lover has a preference for women. Lately, a woman in the workplace has been not only flirting but also dreaming about the reader, and that makes our emo kitty jealous. Morpheus starts looking for the reader at his workplace saying that he has important things to talk/do with her, but in fact he knows that this woman wants to ask the reader out on a date, which is why he always appears and intervenes.

You can say that this woman has all the characteristics that the reader likes in a woman. Reader would obviously be bi/pan.

I don't know if that's how it works, forgive me if something is wrong or confusing, I don't speak English. You can obviously change whatever you want. 💓💓💓💓

A couple of months ago, I wrote about the reader being jealous. Now it's Morpheus's turn, and I giggled the whole way through writing this. Enjoy!

•••

As the King of Dreams, Morpheus is privy to the dreams that each and every being with a consciousness holds dear to them. Though he is not in charge of desires (that’s his sibling’s department, and it’s one he’d like to stay far away from, thank you very much), dreams and desires often share the same space and are sometimes even the same thing.

This is how he finds out that there’s someone, a mortal, nonetheless, that is interested in you romantically.

Jealousy is not a feeling that Dream of the Endless has been overly familiar with during his long, long life. Possessiveness, yes, but for the most part, he has had no reason to be jealous (except for the Killala affair, the first, and probably only, time that he had ever been genuinely jealous). Not to sound pompous, but he is Endless. What need does he have for an emotion as petty as jealousy? In fact, if one were to ask him, he would say that he had never actually been jealous before and that if he had, it was so long ago that he did not remember what the emotion felt like.

No, he’s not familiar with jealousy, but what else would he call this…odd, simmering anger that threatens to eat him alive? After all, it had only started when he had sensed you, or rather, a version of you, in someone’s dreams, and found said version of you engaged in sexual intercourse with a dreamer. It was only after Morpheus declared the dream to be over that he went in search of the offending dreamer, only to discover that it was none other than Johanna Constantine.

As you would say, Morpheus shot himself in the foot. After all, he was the one to introduce you to Constantine when the occultist was having trouble summoning and speaking to ghosts. You just so happened to have the abilities of a psychic medium and were more than willing to help out when the situation had been explained to you. You worked well together and ended up continuing your professional partnership after the original job was finished. At the time, Morpheus had prided himself on a job well done. Now, he was wishing that he had forced her to make a costly deal with his sister if only it meant that she would stop meeting up and working with you.

It certainly doesn’t help that Constantine was a naturally flirtatious creature, calling you “gorgeous” or “love” whenever she talked to you, or teasing that she would be ready and available should you finally decide to leave Morpheus. Worse is the fact that, when it came to women, Morpheus knows that Johanna is what is referred to as “your type.”

He distinctly recalled a night spent with you and Hob Gadling, listening as you recounted the follies of prior relationships. Hob had just finished explaining speed dating in the eighties when you told him that, after years of denial, you had had the startling realization after your last relationship that you did actually have a type, with that type being “brunette girls with an attitude.” Unfortunately, that was very much Johanna.

Morpheus doesn’t understand why it is that he’s feeling so upset, so jealous, over this situation. He knows with every fiber of his anthropomorphized being that you are loyal and faithful to him and that you are just as obsessed with him as he is with you. But as Johanna’s infrequent dreams of you take on a more romantic tone, he cannot help but become a slave to jealousy.

Morpheus had to do something. He could not, he would not, lose you to anybody, but especially not a mortal, and definitely not a Constantine.

So he begins to…appear spontaneously when he knows that you and Johanna will be working together. Matthew calls it “staking his claim,” and perhaps that’s what it is. What else would he call showing you affection in front of your coworker, affection that he is not good at giving when in public, for no reason other than to remind said coworker that you are very happily taken? It’s a rather genius plan, he believes. Subtle, too. If he were to be questioned as to why he shows up at the most inopportune of times, he would simply claim that Time works differently in his realm, and therefore it is impossible to know what is considered a “good time” to see his beloved.

Morpheus is able to delude himself into thinking that this is all working perfectly until after the third time he tries this act. You’re excited to see him when he interrupts your and Johanna’s research into whether the entity she’s dealing with is a ghost or a poltergeist, and you eagerly accept the kiss he offers to you. Still, he notices the look that you and Johanna share when he asks if you might be willing to end your meeting early, and he becomes uncomfortable at the thought that you both know what this is. No, Morpheus tells himself, he’s covered his tracks extremely well.

“Well, Jo? Think we can continue this tomorrow?” you ask upon getting the hint that Morpheus would rather be anywhere but here. “We have been at it for a while now.”

She sighs in faux petulance before nodding. “Aye, could use a break, let you and Sandy get on with your marital activities.”

Morpheus glowers at the exorcist, but you just snicker under your breath and remind her, “We’re not married.”

“Yet.” Johanna glances at Morpheus and winks. “Better hurry up with that, else someone might swoop in and steal your girl.”

“Thank you for the sage advice, Constantine,” Morpheus bites out before turning to you. “Are you ready to depart?”

You nod and take his offered arm, allowing Morpheus to sweep you away to the Dreaming faster than you can even think about saying goodbye to your friend.

When you land in his chambers, you grab his arm before he can try to escape based on the pretense of needing to return to tasks that are apparently pressing, but not pressing enough that he couldn’t escape to see you for no real reason. “Wait,” you say. “Can we talk?”

“What about?” Morpheus asks, for he is not about to deny your request.

“You’ve been acting weird.” You pause. “Weirder than normal. And you only act this way when I’m working with Johanna.”

“I do not believe that has been the case.”

You grin, and he knows that you’ve figured out what he has been doing. “Morpheus. Are you…jealous?”

“That is preposterous,” he says immediately, trying to dispel the notion from your mind.

“Really? Because, to me, it sure looked like you were jealous.”

“I am no such thing!”

Instead of trying to argue with him, because there’s no point to that when you both know that he’s lying, your triumphant grin softens to something sweeter. “It’s okay to be jealous, you know. It’s a very human emotion.”

“I am not human.”

“I know. But you do carry the entire subconscious of humanity, so it makes sense that you’d feel our petty human emotions.”

“Suppose I am…jealous,” Morpheus says the word as if it pains him to do so. “That would not upset you?”

“No! If anything, I’m just curious why you’re jealous. And why it’s Johanna that you’re jealous of.” 

The fact that you have no idea why he feels this way makes Morpheus feel even worse about the jealousy that he’s experiencing because it’s obvious that, to you, he has no reason to be jealous. Morpheus so badly wishes to manufacture a crisis somewhere in the Dreaming so that he may escape having to talk about his feelings.

“I am aware of your proclivity of women that are much the same as Johanna Constantine,” he says instead. “I am also aware of the affection that she harbors for you, an affection made obvious in her dreams.”

“Johanna doesn’t have a crush on me! That’s just how she is, she flirts with everyone!” you argue.

“I can assure you that she does. I will let you see her book if you wish.” He knows that you’re not doubting him in the slightest, but he also wants you to know that just because he’s jealous does not mean that he’s making things up.

“No, if you say it’s true, then I believe you. But what do you mean, my proclivity towards women–” you mutter the last sentence, trying to figure out what Morpheus meant when suddenly you remember the exact same conversation as him. “Huh, I did say that, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

It clicks together for you now, and you grab Morpheus’s hands so that he can’t run away. “Yes, girls like Johanna have traditionally been my type. But lately, my type has changed.”

“It has?” He knows what you’re going to say, but he wants to hear you say it. If Morpheus is going to be indulging his more human emotions, then greed may as well join that list.

“My type is you, Morpheus. Not people like you, but you.”

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, leaning his forehead against yours. Morpheus straightens after a moment when fear runs through him like lightning. “You will not tell her of this, will you?”

“No, I wouldn’t talk about our private conversations to her. Plus, it’s embarrassing enough to have a crush on someone that you know is taken. I don’t want to call her out and make her feel bad about it.”

“You are wise,” Morpheus praises.

“Then might I wisely suggest that you allow me to show you just how little you have to be jealous about?” you ask, already leading him back towards the bed.

He smirks. “You may.”

His secret bout of jealousy, he’s relieved to discover, will remain safe with you.

#morpheus x reader #morpheus imagine #morpheus #dream of the endless x reader #dream of the endless imagine #dream of the endless #the sandman imagine #the sandman

[tyttetardis]

Donmar Welcome Event 16th Jan 2024

Also went to a member's welcome event that the Donmar had, which was basically an hour where they served something to drink and told us a bit more about the theatre and the upcoming shows.

The invitation did say they'd have an exclusive tour of the place - on and off the stage - which I'd been quite excited about - but that didn't actually happen :(

Still, it was rather interesting! Learned a few things about Macbeth as well :)

Apparently, the stage stains very easily - which is why I'm baffled at how easy it apparently is to clean, but guess they must have some really lovely red dye that isn't as stainful as pretty much anything else that's dyed red. It also scratches easily - the movement on the stage can easily create little creases where the blood can get stuck.

I'd only seen the bloodbath on the floor once, so hadn't noticed, but was told that it comes up through the floor - probably why it differs so wildly each night how and where David is covered in it!

(As an aside to that - on the first night there wasn't a bloodbath - he was struck with the knife and there was a bit of blood on his shirt instead - now there's no blood at the wound)

Someone asked them about filming productions (not specifically about Macbeth - and they didn't say anything about it) and they told us about the process of deciding whether to record a production or not as it's a very costly affair to do so - which is why it's not something they just automatically do for everything.

They said that either the NT will ask them if they record a show - which means they do everything, and therefore is obviously the much cheaper option for themselves. The NT will let them know what benefits there might be in it for them - but as far as I understood they won't really earn much if anything from it.

So, the second option is for themselves to invest in filming a production by bringing in a third-party filming company that they pay for themselves. It's obviously a much more expensive way of doing it - but they'd also get more money back from it if it sells well in cinemas or online. Obviously, they have gone with the second option - so hopefully that's because they think it has really good marketing potential!

They mentioned that they are always very aware of the fact that not as many people get to see their performances as would probably like to see them - so it's always part of their considerations whether to film it or not when they create a new production.

One of them joked that they could probably keep up a production like Macbeth for three years and still sell-out - but that the theatre is known for putting on about 6 productions each year, so there's a limit to how long their runs can be - plus there's also the availability of actors to consider.

Someone asked if actors (I assume meaning, big name actors) takes a pay-cut to work with them - and yes, they do. Everyone is paid the theatre-standard no matter who they are. The only extra benefit they might offer big names is a taxi to get to the theatre and to escape back home afterwards.

Ah, yeah, think that was about it - everything else was more or less just about the upcoming productions, memberships, and other general things :)

Edit: Oh, forgot to mention that their focus will always be on the production as it's on, then on any potential transfers and then on releasing it for cinema/online - so if they filmed something it wouldn't be released until the live show is done - and sounded like they wouldn't necessarily say anything about it having been recorded (or not) until then as well. So don't think we will hear anything about the plan for it until the show is over.

#Macbeth #Donmar Warehouse #David Tennant #Cush Jumbo #This is just from memory - so yeah free paraphrasing. #Actually the part about the blood I was just lucky to hear 😅 #as Silvia was talking to the two ladies standing next to me while I was nodding along and smiling 🙈 #but not feeling competent enough to actually join in on the conversation 😬 #She also mentioned how desperate understudies were for a chance to perform - which is of course very understandable! #but I was just thinking that if I were an understudy #I'm not sure I'd want to go on stage in DT's place 🙈 #especially not for a short super popular run like this 🫣

[wmarximoff]

𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 | 𝐰. 𝐦𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐟𝐟

summary: your relationship with Wanda is not the same as it was.

warnings: mentions of smut, mentions of smoking, canon typical violence, angst.

pairing: Wanda x fem!reader

word count: 7k

A/N: and finally IWBS is back, brand new and all! seriously guys, i'm so happy to finally bring this fic back!

main masterlist| series masterlist|

༺ᱬ༻

Your awakening was costly, as the agent responsible for the event happened to be a chain of vibrations near your left elbow. From outside, sharp beams of light breached the room through the half-open window partially hidden behind the thin fabric curtain; a trickle of sun burning the apple of your left cheek and the expanse of skin there already hinted at the itch to come, gaining a brief intonation as ruddy as a ripe peach.

The vibration continued. You felt the stiff pulses through the fabric of the jacket that you hadn't bothered to consider taking off your shoulders the night before that morning, when you were the one who staggered home and didn't even untie your shoelaces beforehand of sprawling on the mattress like a rag doll and pass out for a good nine hours straight – the world around you spinning in a paradoxically slow alcoholic spiral, a constricting cloud of meager cigarette smoke tracking you like an obsessive spirit into the walls of your small apartment.

You felt a tightening grip in the pit of your stomach, but the vomiting never came and you just sat with your shod feet flat against the floor, elbows resting on your kneecaps, your heavy head drooping between your legs like a bowling ball hanging from a string. You then sluggishly brushed the palm of your right hand against the expanse of your wasted-faced self, your lids weighty and your eyes stinging as if they were carpeted with a tiny layer of sand. Your mouth felt dry. And the vibration kept puddled through your cheap bed sheet.

With confused fingers, you captured the cell phone tucked inside the case of your pillow, groping for the device that you soon brought close to your face half swollen with sleep. There was a lethargic blink of eyelids on your part. But what you saw there, the oh-so-unforgettable name gleaming on the cracked glass screen, startled you, and you creased your brow in response to the sudden confusion shown in your twisted expression.

She was looking for you. She would never be looking for you. At least not anymore. Not her. Not Wanda. And your mouth continued to feel dry and your gums numb, but there was no more blaming last night's Bourbon for that.

ᗢ

 You were never quite sure what the origin could be traced when dealing with your inhuman capabilities and the causative agent of them. You hadn't been bitten by some radioactive animal or hit by gamma rays; you certainly hadn't studied mystical or supernatural magic, and being as human as you could be, there's just no way you could be an alien from a distant, extinct planet, sent to Earth as a child in a spaceship that landed in your parents' backyard. Parents who were normal humans in the purest and most acute sense imbued in the word.

Your world shifted suddenly, however, after the accident. The Accident, an unforgettable event, a memorable affair. When everything changed within you from one hour to the next, without you even being able to realize what was happening.

Late one night on the road, coming home from a little family trip to a national park in the next state, a song on the radio you can't quite remember what it was. And then a white light in front of the car. The noxious front of a truck making its way through the darkness of the night. A scream from your mother. A bang, a loud one. Your forehead bumping against the glass. And then the white became dark. A deep darkness that flooded your lungs and drowned you in a state of unconsciousness. When you woke up in the hospital a week later, you were nothing but a little orphan with nothing to lose. That had been your new identity since that day. Orphan. Utterly alone.

Your relatively short stay at Madame Dupont's School For Girls is what caused you a certain aversion to the sacred – undoubtedly the recurrent beatings, the nights deprived of food and the constant disappointment that haunted the melancholy walls of that dismal place fed your disgust towards your interpersonal relationships outside your own thoughts. In the chapel, an image of the crucified savior seemed to look at you with regret. At just fourteen years old, your best idea was to run away and that's what you did.

The streets were tough. Every day it was necessary to survive without knowing what would become of tomorrow. There wasn't a bed or a shower for you on the streets, but you learned to fend for yourself and take care of yourself as you could, the way your limitations allowed you to live – it was the alleys of New York, the pickpockets that raised you and the stolen scraps of food, sometimes depending on the charity of some generous stranger so as not to starve to death.

Cold nights were spent in hostels, subways or homeless shelters, but not long enough for them to realize you were still more of a kid than an adult. During those warm summer nights, the place to sleep was fire escapes and dark alleys. The world, however, was not prepared for an alien invasion. At the age of fifteen, you certainly weren't either. The Chitauri invasion was, in fact, a watershed for what would become of you after that remarkable day.

There were screams. People running away and falling, people crying everywhere. Bleeding people. Explosions. Glass and concrete falling onto sidewalks and streets. And you were running. You were dashing as hastily as you could through the streets of Manhattan, as hard as your legs would allow you until your muscles ached and your lungs burned like they were going to burst out of your chest. But a runaway truck turned the corner and was speeding towards you, cutting through the wind and scarring the asphalt.

There was no way to dodge it. The truck was coming and it was fast and just for a second you felt your stomach knot inside your belly, your knees locked in fear, a chill running down the length of your spine and dissipating down the back of your neck.

“This is it,” you thought, just fifteen years old, numbed by the lull of acceptance, tongue fluttering inside your mouth. Your heart pounded, pumping hot blood through your veins, and then suddenly froze. The air turned to ice inside your lungs, “That's it. Shit. That's it. Life is an unfair bitch.”

 The reflex of self-preservation made you raise your hands to protect yourself, closing your eyelids tightly in the illusion that a hit like that would hurt less if you didn't see what would hit you, a certain bitterness of disappointment taking shape in your stomach. During an alien invasion, you certainly didn't expect to be killed by some hit-and-run situation.

You felt an impact against your raised palms. It pushed you back a little, the soles of your shoes scuffed against the asphalt, but you weren't thrown away. You didn't fall and break several bones and rupture several tendons, you weren't left to die bleeding with a broken skull in the middle of the street like you thought you would – with a dark puddle forming behind your head, your vision going dark as your gaze would become empty and lost.

You dared to open a curious eye, testing, experimenting. But the other one opened soon after. The world around you was strange. The truck's bodywork was dented by your hands. The driver, unconscious, was slumped forward, his forehead pressed violently against the steering wheel. His nose and forehead were bleeding, but you were whole and intact, brand new. It didn't make sense. But perceptions of what's normal and what's not can change when there's an alien invasion of New York.

The Chitauri were defeated. The Avengers (those Earth's greatest heroes) won, but the citizens had to deal with the damage left behind in a desolate city. It didn't take you long to find a use for your newfound unusual abilities.

After making sure of your capabilities and limitations (you could jump as high as a medium-sized building, but jumping didn't mean flying, which you definitely weren't capable of doing), it didn't take you long to realize that superpowers could mean easy money and fast if you only knew how to talk to the right people. In New York's underworld, there was no shortage of the right people to do the wrong things.

Thus, life on the streets became a little more bearable when you found yourself in possession of inhuman strength. But it didn't take long for you to get on the Avengers' radar. They were the pros, of course, and they would be aware of you – the bounty hunter who could lift a car over her head with her bare hands. You knew better. They got in touch. You were sixteen and you forgot to celebrate your birthday that year.

Tony Stark's butler shows up in a fancy car outside your tiny Brownsville apartment one fall night, and soon you're comfortable heading toward Manhattan, into the gigantic Avengers Tower – perhaps a way more appealing tourist attraction than the Statue of Liberty itself, which at the time did not yet carry Captain America's shield on its massive right arm.

Nobody in the group of superheroes managed to hide very well the expressions of surprise that came over their faces when they found out that you were still just a kid. A superpowered kid, sure, but a kid nonetheless. Bruce Banner said it out loud when no one else did, “But she... she's just a kid...”.

Between expensive food that you could never afford on your own and a considerable cartel of non-alcoholic drinks, they (Tony, Tony was the one who did it) offered you a spot on the team and you accepted because you didn't had the money to pay the rent anymore, and going back to the streets didn't seem like a good option.

There wasn't a dramatic story about you joining the group as everyone else's. Papers were signed, you got a black and white tactical uniform and a very annoying teacher (a tall, white man with a big nose) responsible for teaching you in the compound and catching up on all the subjects you missed from school during the your teenage years on the streets.

Natasha Romanoff, the infamous, ruthless spy, the Black Widow herself, became something of a big sister figure – she knew just how to fill those shoes because she did indeed had a little sister, as she told you about that one time you both were having grilled cheese for dinner. Yelena. Yelena Belova was Natasha Romanoff's younger sister who was older than you. You acted like you didn't think Natasha was hot before you met her.

She took you under her wing, and was the person responsible for making sure you were up to date on your homework and taking you to the mall and movies on your days off. The one who bought you a hamburger and a milkshake when you were sad. You could find a new family in that little den of adults who had been through as much in life as you had.

ᗢ

It was thanks to Ultron that you met her – Wanda Maximoff, the volunteer.

The girl with her nails painted black and a deep shade of red oozing from her gaze filled with hatred, yet in the background was a dark shadow of fear swallowed by the piercing scarlet of her magic. Her gaze was green and red and just as sad and just as hateful for a girl as young as she looked. She looked capable of chewing you up and spitting you out, and actually, something in you kind of yearned for her to.

She was a Sokovian orphan (utterly alone, like you) who had nothing to lose but her twin brother (she lost him shortly afterwards, in that same incident) and her will to change the world. Wanda Maximoff, the successful result of an inhumane Hydra experiment involving desperate volunteers and the Mind Stone. A young witch with not even the slightest notion of how the magic that shrieked and blasted inside her worked, consumed by her pulsating desire for revenge against all those who took everything from her.

She and her brother wanted Tony's head. You wanted her not to be on the enemy's side. She was nothing more than a scared girl, who didn't even understand how those powers worked that she so woefully failed to control in the first place. Red seeped from her pores in an untouchable haze that enveloped her in a furious glow.

You've seen her fighting up close in Novi Grad, the Sokovian capital – the determination in her chiseled dark brows, bursts of crimson shadow running down her fingertips as she fired spheres of magical energy towards Ultron's robot minions. She downed four of them, and then more five, six, seven, eleven, fifteen. The dark hair contrasting against the bright red of her worn jacket – the long, brown hair that you wanted to touch and caress with your fingertips, appreciate how soft it was, was smeared with dust and blood and she looked beautiful that way.

Staring at her, gaze locked on her attractive figure, you barely noticed when a robot came speeding towards you (not when your attention was all focused on that girl wrapped in red), and you were startled when the machine exploded in front of you, dismembered by a thin layer of burgundy aura that dissipated in the air along with its wires and screws, breaking it into five different metallic pieces.

You realized she was looking your way, mossy green eyes glowing hellfire scarlet – the dark eyeliner accentuating her sharp gaze, the heavy lashes pointed in your direction. The red in her eyes matched the burning red in her cheeks.

“Thank you,” you tried and were surprised when the words left your mouth, because you didn't tend to thank anyone willingly, let alone stutter while doing so.

But you were met with a thoughtful silence from the other girl. She was quiet and serious, panting a little, her chest rising and falling heavily, her pretty face a little smudged with soot. The gaze was still intense in your direction, as if it could analyze and understand right through your flesh, dismembering your soul, studying you from the inside out.

You remembered that she messed with your teammates' minds back in Africa, and thought she might have been reading your mind at that moment. If she was, you thought, she would know that at that moment you thought she was simply the most beautiful girl that ever walked the face of the earth.

“You are welcome,” her Eastern European accent was thick and wobbled deliciously between the words, “Are you… are you okay?”

You swallowed hard and hesitated for a second, “I–”

 “Wanda!”

Before you could respond, her brother, Pietro, sped towards you and whisked you away in a blue and red blur, leaving behind only dust and you, somewhat doomed in your black and white uniform. The next time you heard from him, he was lying on the dirty floor, lifeless, his chest pierced by a collection of gun bullets.

When Novi Grad was plummeting from the sky and the Avengers were alerted to send the city into free fall, with Tony and Thor working hard together to smooth the damage back to the ground, you searched for Wanda's face in the crowd gathered at the SHIELD rescue aircraft hangars. Your fearful gaze searched desperately for her, for some trace of her green gaze staring deep back at you, your heart squeezing inside your chest. She wasn't there.

You had no idea what you were doing and you were fucking terrified as your legs marched back into the abandoned city, wrecked with the signs of war, to look for the girl you'd met just seventy-two hours before, between Africa and Korea, and who in at least twenty-four of those seventy and two hours had tried to kill you and your teammates.

You didn't listen when Clint Barton, the Hawkeye, shouted your name and ordered you back to the safety of the aircraft. He had rescued Pietro's lifeless body, carrying the dead boy onto the plane. But you needed to find her.

She was inside a train car, helpless. In addition to the glistening sweat on her pale face and the small trickle of blood split open in a patch of skin just above her left eyebrow, a waterfall of thick tears ran freely down her cheekbones, leaving behind them a dark trail of black blurred makeup. You wanted to say that she looked beautiful when she cried, but you stopped at the last second, twisting your tongue inside your mouth.

You knew those tears were reserved for her deceased twin brother. Seeing her cry made your heart break into several pieces – you wanted to kiss away those dark tears and hold her trembling body in your arms, promising you would support her from then on. You wanted to be her support while she suffered. But Clint's screech into the communicator inside your ear snapped you back to reality; the city was falling and if you didn't get out of there soon, you would be buried with the ruins of Novi Grad. You didn't hesitate to take her in your arms.

Just as she didn't hesitate to hug your neck and hide her head in your chest, her chin quivering to contain the sobs that made the bones in her chest ache. The physical touch was like a wave of energy that went through your body and hers as well. You saw red and she saw white.

Then she looked at you – eyes glistening with tears, no longer dark, as clear as the leaves of spring trees. Your chest filled with air and deflated quickly. Your mouth went dry. Wanda's fingertips brushed the warm, sweaty skin at the base of the nape of your neck, the cold metal of her collection of rings sending shivers down the length of your spine. You offered her a small smile before hopping back onto the plane. Her short black dress fluttered against your right forearm.

Before returning to dry land, you sat among a crowd of hundreds of helpless Sokovian citizens, your fingers intertwined the entire time, her thumb noiselessly stroking the back of your hand, the ring swirling against your skin.

“Thank you,” she said after a while, not looking you directly in the eye (because she was crying, you knew it and she knew you knew it), sounding small and fragile like a child.

“You're welcome,” you replied in the same tone as her, bestowing a friendly squeeze on the outline of her hand.

ᗢ

When Wanda returned with you and your tired teammates back to New York, her new room in the compound was behind the door next to yours, just to the right of your own room. She silently sighed in relief when she realized she wouldn't stay away from you. So you spent a lot of time together, enjoying each other's company. Even though at first she was the quiet, slightly more reserved type, you knew it was because Pietro was dead and she was alone in a new country, where everything was nothing short of alien to her.

And you understood. More than all of them, you understood. You too were a street urchin who parachuted into a billionaire's house, after all.

In the first days, the nightmares were constant and Wanda always looked for you to alleviate them. Nobody but you. She has always looked exclusively for you. She would enter your room and, without saying anything, lay down next to you on the bed, you feeling the movement next to you in the dead of night, when silence was the third person in your room. You two never talked about it.

Not until the day she hugged you from behind and, in a low, shy voice, thanked you against your earlobe – her warm breath warming the shell of your ear. You squeezed her slender arm, without saying a word, to let her know it was all right, and she relaxed against your body – braless breasts pressing against the muscles of your back.

Your similar age helped, too. It didn't take long for you to discover that Wanda was seventeen years old and only three months younger than you. So she became your classmate when the two of you were tutored by Vision (the red, green, and yellow synthezoid born of Jarvis's mind and Ultron's will), and she became your companion during the spare time between classes with the robot-man and the hard training from Natasha, when you just wanted to watch a movie, listen to some music or just have a coffee at that cozy little coffee shop on the corner.

Natasha gave you a suggestive look when you said you were going to have coffee with Wanda for the third time within that same week. But that girl made you smile, just as you did to her (making her nose twitch and scrunch in a really appealing way and her cheeks flush). You confided to each other intimate desires, yearnings and dreams that you never dared to tell anyone else. Wanda was into hibiscus tea and Sokovian poetry, old American sitcoms and alternative and grunge rock. You were found of black coffee, classic literature, thrillers and heavy metal.

She told you between sips of tea, on a particularly cold night, about the days at the orphanage after the bomb that took the lives of her parents, about the boy with a skin condition who was always trying to steal Pietro's boots. You told of the Catholic school and the time a silly little prank cost you a whole week without any dinner to eat. She spoke of the protests against the presence of the US Army in her country, of her political engagement back in Sokovia. You told of the time you worked with a blind man dressed as a red devil to ambush some bandits in Hell's Kitchen.

Her parents were Jewish and she considered herself a part of the religion, even if she wasn't practicing it, as a means of keeping them close, keeping the flame of memory alive in her soul. You watched Jurassic Park at least once a month, searching for the ghost of nostalgia for your father's arm around your shoulder. She could play the guitar. You liked photography. The first time you kissed her was right after you took a picture of her playing the guitar (she played Nirvana, your favorite which was also her favorite).

She was shy and you said she didn't have to worry because she was the most beautiful thing you had ever photographed. Then you took the sides of her face between your hands and cut the distance between your mouths, bringing your lips together. Wanda tasted like hibiscus and cinnamon and red. The red that invaded your mouth, trickled over your tongue and landed in your stomach. She put her hands over yours before grabbing you by the neck and deepening the kiss.

After your first time a few weeks later, she cried with happiness in the midst of an orgasm, pouring her pleasure into your mouth, fingers fisted in your hair until they turned white, calling out to you in a half-moan Sokovian dialect. Your fingers were the first thing that entered her. Shortly thereafter, the length of your strap-on was second. You made love to her in her bed and you fucked her in your room.

And on the sofa in the television room, late one night, when Natasha went to sleep (because she noticed that the palm of her hand was increasingly tucked into Wanda's miniskirt, who had a questionable facial expression on her face to say the least).

And on the kitchen counter, when the other Avengers were out, wearing that thick scarlet strap that was her favorite that cinched around the outline of your waist (it caressed her in several places on the inside and was just the right thickness that she could take it without hurting herself, but which was definitely pleasurable and fit just perfectly).

And in the bathroom at your favorite coffee shop (because Wanda was jealous of the bartender hitting on you and wanted to make sure you knew who you belonged to).

And in the elevator after a party roasted by Tony, when you both looked like you were going to explode and didn't have time to make it to the bed (not with Wanda's hands squeezing your breasts and your thighs through the thin fabric of your black dress, you sucking her neck as if it needed to drink from the pulsing red blood of her artery to survive, with your knee thrust between the hollow of her legs, making continuous movements up and down against her dripping center). Six months into your relationship then made official, and you could barely keep your hands off each other for so long.

“You two could make less noise next time,” Natasha commented one morning, holding a cup of hot coffee close to her face, when you and Wanda walked into the kitchen hand in hand and sharing knowing smiles on your lips.

“I don't want to know who's doing what to who at three o'clock in the morning, thank you.”

You felt your face burn, mortified, and Wanda was no different. Steve scratched his throat because all the Avengers were there. A few days later, he decided to do a (very awkward, his cheeks boiling and his blue eyes looking towards the floor) intervention with you two to ask you to “keep your intimate relationship inside your rooms, girls, please”.

The sex ed class with Vision was a painful experience, but you learned your lesson – Wanda started moaning more quietly with her face buried in the pillow while you fucked her from behind.

ᗢ

You spent the anniversary of your parents' deaths together at the beginning of the summer. Then the one of her parents' death in mid-autumn, and then the one of Pietro's death in late spring. You wish you'd gotten to know him better, given him a second chance in those seventy-two hours you've known him, in Africa and Korea.

When she confessed that she no longer remembered her father's (Oleg, she said in a thick accent, full of imbued feelings), with the two of you wrapped in each other's arms late at night in her bed, she cried with the face buried in your neck and you stroked her back the whole time with your open palm. Malcom in the Middle played softly on the television in the corner of the room.

ᗢ

Later, you had tea together in the kitchen, leaning against the marble counter, and you admitted that you couldn't remember the date of either of your parents' birthdays. She hugged you from the side, resting her head on your shoulder (wearing your shirt with a rock band logo displayed on her chest), but you didn't cry.

"I'm sorry," she whispered lightly, her face hidden in the skin gap where your neck met your collarbone, "I love you."

You blinked once and then looked at her, a warm feeling pulsing inside your ribcage, "I love you too."

The incident in Lagos, Nigeria, occurred shortly after your one-year anniversary together. You had just turned eighteen. She would do it next month. It would be the first birthday she would celebrate without Pietro's presence, and that's why she walked around with her head down – but you understood, you always understood. As Wanda's girlfriend, you went out of your way to make her happy (even if that only meant wiping her tears after a long emotional crying session).

Natasha and Steve were training her while tracking the mercenary Crossbones, who in a desperate act threatened to blow himself up, aiming to take Captain America and all the civilians gathered along the explosion area with him.

Wanda was quick to react, summoning her magic with the act she'd trained for so long to control, temporarily containing the heat of the explosion in a sheath of pulsing red magic – but she wasn't fast enough to manage to change the trajectory of the time bomb that was Crossbones, and he slammed into the side of a building, detonating half its structure in the process, glass plummeting from above onto the street.

 As Wanda sank to her trembling knees, tears pooling in the waterlines of her aching eyes and a hand pressed to her mouth, stifling a sob deep in her throat, you rushed to her protection, hugging her to your chest as if you could forever hold her against yourself, wanting to protect her from all the harm in the world. The explosion was still fresh in your memory, but it would certainly never leave her brain.

“It's gonna be okay, honey,” you whispered a shaky lie into her ear, stroking her brown hair in a helpless, automatic act, her body feeling cold against yours, “It's– it's gonna be okay, Wands. It's gonna be okay. We gonna be okay.”

You knew it definitely wasn’tgoing to be okay. You just didn't know how wrong everything could go in such a short time.

Wanda had no interest in leaving her room for the following month. It was up to you to bring her food and water, which you did every day without complaint. You held her hair the times nervousness made her dump her dinner down the toilet, tear running down her beautiful face. You held her when she cried and you fucked her when she wanted to sleep and forget but couldn't quite fall asleep.

On her birthday, you gave her a red velvet cupcake, her favorite, topped with a thin pink candle (which she blew out after you instructed her to make a wish), and a bowl filled with some pathetic excuse for what would be spicy paprikash chicken you tried to cook after finding a recipe on the internet. You were never one to cook very well, you knew it and she knew it too. But she laughed, albeit weakly, and placed a warm kiss on the pulp of your lips. You hadn't heard her laugh in a few weeks, and it sounded like a warm hug in your ears.

“I thought this might lift your spirits a bit,” you informed her, offering her a small smirk.

“Spirits lifted,” she confirmed, with a weak shake of her head, “Thank you, detka.”

“Nah, no need to thank me. Just make a wish honey, any wish you’d like.”

From the look on your girlfriend's haggard face, so beautiful even behind the shadow of sadness that followed her like a ghost, never releasing her from her prison, you knew what her ideal request had been, even if she didn't have the verbalized in full when he blew out the candle flame, curling her kissable lips and throwing a gust of oxygen between them.

You could feel it and it squeezed your stomach and squeezed your throat from the inside out. She wants all of this, this sadness, to end.

ᗢ

You felt a beseeching need to throw up when Tony threw a wad of papers that slid onto the glass table in the compound's meeting room a few days later, landing with a heavy thud, you reading SOKOVIA ACCORDS on their cover in thick capital letters.

The breath caught in your throat like a needle. The government was out to tame beings with extraordinary gifts, to turn them into foolish soldiers for their mediocre and hypocritical agenda – “Wanda,” you thought, “they want to tame Wanda”. The haggard girl sat beside you, one hand braced on your right knee, a flaking black nail scraping nervously against a loose line of your dark jeans.

“You're saying they'll come for me,” she said with a lost look, her voice flat and empty. Dangerously empty.

The certainty that seeped from her voice made your heart drop and shatter into a hundred different pieces. You squeezed her hand placed on top of your knee, feeling her rings against your palm. She looked at you, the green in her gaze erased by uncertainty and fear.

“We’ll protect you,” you assured your girlfriend, maintaining eye contact with her, in a tone of voice in which only she understood the significance you were addressing, “I’ll protect you.”

It was with that promise sealed that you chose sides in the battle to come; Wanda's side, you were always on Wanda's side.

Even when Tony treated her like an enemy (a villain), and consequently the rest of the Avengers (you included) who opposed him. Even when Natasha joined him, breaking your heart in the process(but then she betrayed him). Even when the Avengers fell apart in an internal conflict that resulted in a battle at Leipzig-Hale Airport in Germany (although you had no idea who the boy in the red and blue suit Tony had summoned to combat was). You didn't mean to hurt your friends, but the punch you landed against Vision's metallic face was a little too hard on purpose.

And even when you and she were restrained by special government agents, forcibly dressed in straitjackets and stuffed into dark cells, watched twenty-four-by-seven by a battalion of security cameras and heavily armed soldiers until the tooth, caged and forgotten with the rest of your team in a vertiginous prison in the middle of the ocean, you were by her side.

Your cells faced each other. Glancing at your girlfriend through the protective glass (she looked small, angry, haggard and just sad), you promised her you'd get her out of there – you loathed to see her trapped and restricted like a caged animal, as if she was a dangerous animal, a bestial monster, and not simply the sweetest girl you've ever had the pleasure of knowing in your life. They never knew her like you did.

But Steve and Natasha infiltrated the Raft, and your release was a success. Under a stinging rain, sneaked into a tiny helicopter piloted by the Black Widow, you fled before security even had a chance to stop you (all the while Wanda's hand was hooked to yours, her gaze watching over your welfare all the time).

You then earned the title of official global-scale fugitives (it was all over the news and across the internet), with Wanda patiently dyeing her then-brown hair a coppery shade of red, the two of you sneaking into a tiny bathroom in the apartment you were using as a hideaway in the heart of Scotland when you, at nearly nineteen years of age, decided it was time to do right. Anxiety gnawed at your stomach, but you never had doubts.

She was sitting in front of the narrow mirror glass, finishing brushing a long strand of bleached hair, casually humming to some song by an alt-rock band, when you knelt before her, staring into her moss-green irises, barely stroking her chin with the tips of your fingers in a way that expressed that you wanted to get her attention.

“Wanda,” you sighed, feeling yourself levitate in your cotton socks. She offered a confused smile in your direction.

“Yes, malishka?" Her tone was understanding, yet curious. With her eyes, she encouraged you to speak when she saw that you hesitated there for half a second.

But you wiped the sweat accumulated in your palms on the fabric of your sweatpants, your breathing uneven, your racing heart almost exploding in your ears and, looking into the soul of her who was the object of your devoutness, a slight smile flourished on the commission of your lips, “Marry me?"

She was the one who chose the rings. The ceremony was a small one, not long after you asked for her hand in marriage and she smothered you with kisses as she promptly accepted the proposal. As intimate as possible it could be, at least.

You weren't even twenty and you were a runaway, and you were marrying your first girlfriend – but Wanda, at that moment with red hair (the color that suited her so well), coming towards you in a subdued white dress and a smile that sparkled in love, bathed in the golden hour at the height of sunset, was all you needed in life.

You needed her more than oxygen to survive – you proved that theory when you made love for the first time as a married couple, like two wives calling each other's name until the next morning's first ray of sunshine. Sleeping in your wife's arms was different than sleeping in your girlfriend's arms.

ᗢ

The twins followed right after, like the acts of a play that unfolded right before your eyes, with you and Wanda as the main stars of that strange show (her womb swelling for nine months, getting bigger, looking ready to explode like a balloon).

Neither she nor you were sure exactly how that happened; via a video call, Natasha had threatened to punch Wanda in the nose if she had slept with anyone other than you. But you trusted your wife, and the result of your love left no doubt; little Tommy was like you when you were a kid, and Billy had your mother's eyes (you had forgotten what they looked like, but then your son opened his eyes in your arms and looked deep into you and you cried because you remembered your mother).

You were in London, that cold, gray metropolis, and you helped a crying child across the street, holding her little hand as you guided her across the crosswalk towards her mother. You smiled at the little girl and with the palm of your hand caressed the top of the small head of brown hair – seeing it up close, you really seemed to be a mother figure to that little girl who looked up to you as if you were some kind of support for her.

Wanda's heart fluttered at the scene and she was filled with an overflowing love and imagined what it would be like if that girl were yours. What would she be like if she were even smaller, just a baby, and if she looked like you, but also like her. She wanted to know what it would be like if you put your ear to her swollen belly and whispered to the growing child inside that you would do anything for them. She would listlessly caress your hair while you stroke the warm skin of her abdomen.

That night, when you made love in your bed, Wanda's eyes glowed a profuse shade red as he came apart with her hands pressing your face against the middle of her own legs, your saliva dripping down into her, into her womb. The morning sickness came a few weeks after that day.

You were twenty-one when you first held Thomas in your arms – his nose the same shape as yours, as were the shape of his eyes and the arch of his small mouth. He was warm, affable, and he smelled like the sun. After another ten minutes or so, William might even have your mother's eyes, but his face was a small-scale of Wanda's striking features. He was yours to hold and protect, and for him and his brother (and, of course, their mother) you just knew you'd do anything.

Wanda was sweaty and crying when she looked at you, a happy smile shining on her tired lips that didn't go away even when you approached and kissed her, only because you didn't know any other way to express your feelings at that moment than by bringing your lips together.

“Thank you,” you sobbed, “Thank you.”

Billy was snuggled in Wanda's arms, and you were the one holding little Tommy. And you were happy. You were genuinely like you had never been in your life before. They were your family. You and her, together, wrapped in love, had built a family.

ᗢ

“Y/n?”

The shaky voice took you back to the fateful times of your adult life, where you could be found just sitting alone in an empty bed, the curtains serving as a wall against you and the brightness of the world outside, on the edge of the big city.

Wanda was sounding worried on the other end of the line, so it didn't take long for you to assume it was something to do with the boys – because, in fact, your ex-wife would have no reason to contact you other than matters concerning your children, the only bond then still existing between you and her. When not even wedding rings could sustain your relationship and prevent it from sinking completely into the confines of your memory, in a sweet time that would never return, Billy and Tommy were the only remnant of your union that still prevailed between you and their other mother.

“Erm, hey… hey, Wanda,” you sounded hesitant in a voice that was suddenly too high in the ear, just because you didn't really have anything else to say to her.

You were no longer the person you once were, and Wanda certainly wasn't either. You were nothing but strangers who once knew each other better than anyone else could ever know you. She also looked unsure of what she should say next though; both dancing this weird waltz, trying to influence the other to speak first. But you heard the deep sigh Wanda exhaled on the other end of the line, a warm rush of oxygen trapped inside her bronchial tubes.

“Everything’s fine around there? Are the boys okay? Are… are you okay, Wanda?” You tried to get the information out of her that she wanted to tell you, but you just didn't know how.

And then there was a silent sob that ended up in your right ear. You had previously witnessed Wanda's cries countless times, and hardened by experience, you could even differentiate them from the others. That was the stress cry. Of fear. Like the time she cried because she was abruptly horrified as she teared a hole through Vision's metallic forehead in an attempt to destroy the Mind Stone and prevent Thanos from reaching it.

The weight of the entire future of the universe fell on your wife's shoulders, and you, in the distance, lying on the ground and with a gaping hole in the right side of your navel (the deep cut draining drops and drops of scarlet warm liquid from within your veins, your conscience fading into the darkness little by little) saw her cry with fear when she feared not being able to take the life of a friend as dear as Vision was.

You pressed the plastic of the phone against the skin of your ear, sinking your upper teeth into the dry expanse of your bottom lip.

“Wanda?” your voice called your ex-wife's name one more time, eliciting in response an uncontrollable sob even stronger than the last one before it, “Wanda, talk to me please. Something happen to the boys? To you? Please, talk to me. I need to understand what’s going on.”

“The boys, Y/n,” she sobbed dimly, and you felt your heart sink into your ribcage, “Y/n, they… t-they… their skills… they, they need you here. You know what can happen if the world finds out they have powers, Y/n, and it's hard, I'm... I'm scared. Please, I don't want them to be taken away from me. I just don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how… I don’t know how to do this anymore.”

Her voice sounded small, fearful, uncertain. You've heard her like this before, about to break down. And every time you heard her like that, you wanted to welcome her into your embrace.

“This– this won’t happen,” you then assured her, immediately jumping to your feet as you straightened your knees, “Nobody's gonna take the boys away, Wanda, nobody. They'll have to go over me and you to do that.”

She sniffed on the other end of the line. You pressed your index finger and thumb against the bridge of your nose, engaged in a imprudent attempt to ease the nauseous hangover feeling that pressed your brain into the walls of your skull.

“Are you— are you home? Are they at home?”

“Yes,” she murmurs, “They're still sleeping. Billy took a while to fall asleep last night because he said his head felt weird and he could hear a lot of things at once, and Tommy didn't want to sleep until Billy went to sleep too. You know how they can be about each other...”

“Right,” was your response as you started to search hungrily for a clean shirt in your closet, “I'll be there in about forty minutes, okay?”

“Okay…” Wanda sighed. There was relief, like a weight lifted from her shoulders. And then you realized that it was the weight of not having to do this alone anymore.

The following seconds of silence were awkward to say the least, something that supposedly shouldn't come between you and Wanda – but which was soon promptly interrupted by a small shy voice on the other end of the line.

“Thank you, Y/n.”

Your mouth opens, but then closes just as quickly as you did in the first place. You wanted to tell her that she didn't have to thank you; those were your children too, you should be there for them. You loved her, so you should have been there to support her through the difficult situations presented by the challenges of motherhood. They were your family. You should have done a lot more for them than you actually did.

But you didn't say anything. As before, you didn’t say anything. Words were born and perished within you. And, like the coward that you were, you give up even before you try, brushing your fingertips through your half-dirty hair.

“No need to thank me, Wanda. I’ll just… I’ll be there soon. Just... Just wait for me.”

#wanda reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda x reader #wanda x you #billy maximoff #tommy maximoff #scarlet witch #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch x you #scarlet witch imagine #i wanna be somebody!series

[vibratingskull]

Are you still writing for Thurfian?? I love him but besides your amazing fanfics there is nothing here😭😭

I’m starving, I’ll take any trope or prompt😭🩷

Dude!!!! I fricking LOVE Thurfian, I try to convert people to the Thurfian church all the time !!!

art by wonderful @thrawns-backrest

Part 1

ThurfianxF!reader

Tags : Masked ball, pregnancy talk, breeding kink, cunni, P in V, creampie

You turn and twirl, humming a tune in your bedroom, your gorgeous dress pressed against your body to observe it in the mirror. Tonight there is a ball at the Mitth’s hotel particulier.  

A masked ball. 

You're quite excited. 

You lay your red and golden dress down on your bed and open your drawer to pass your collection of lipstick in review.  

You have a ton.  

All presents from the same person. The same one who selected your dress. 

You pick a tube, review the color and choose another one. 

More bold, more flashy, more… insolent! 

A delectable shade of deep, eye-catching red that compliments your skin tone deliciously. You almost only have reds. 

It is the Mitth color with gold and he wouldn’t want you to wear anything else. You apply the pigment and you smack your lips in a sounding ‘pop’. This shade is so gorgeous. Especially on you. 

Will he compliment you for it tonight? 

Knowing him he would probably decide to ignore you completely, to not reveal your secret. 

You take your most costly perfume and put it on your neck and behind your ears. You love those hints of tangerine and spices. It is way too expensive for your small paycheck, but not for him. He bought you this one and numerous others. 

He loves to cover his babies with presents. You are no exception, even if he favors less ostentatious presents for you. He may have the liberty to collect Chiss lovers but you… 

You are only a human. 

An alien. 

His standing would take such a stab if your scandalous affair was uncovered to the public's eyes. And you would lie if you said you were unbothered by it. You understand his reasons to remain hidden on a factual level and for some time you even loved it, finding it exciting and enthralling! All this secrecy, the scandal and debauchery! 

But lately you just feel tired by all that. 

Your smile dies down in your mirror. 

Sometimes you would like for him to put his foot down and admit seeing you. You’re not asking him to renounce all his other lovers… Just to accept seeing you openly. 

You’re not in your teen years anymore, dating around is not as fun as it used to be. You would just like to settle, with or without someone.  

Sometimes you would like to stop everything, coming to him and putting an end to all of it. 

He would probably let you go without a fuss, and you would be left with the memories and the presents. 

He doesn’t really have a choice in the matter but you know he would never be cruel to the point of throwing you out of the manor and firing you out of your job as an assistant. You are and remain a Mitth responsibility, whether it pleases him or not, it is his duty to manage you and keep you under surveillance. 

Your hand holding your lipstick falls down on your vanity. Suddenly, tonight’s soiree isn’t as appealing anymore. 

But you had hopes for a time… the last time you spent time together he promised to take care of you if you ended up pregnant. You thought you would be closer after that, but he proceeded to ignore you for weeks on end after that. 

You sigh. You make the lipstick turn between your fingers. 

What is it even for? 

Marking you as his, and he doesn’t have to take any of the responsibilities towards you at all. 

Just reveling in the fun you represent. 

You sigh again. 

You pretty much signed up for it! 

But tonight… You don’t want to play the game. You don’t want to play the docile pet. 

You take a towel and wipe the red off your lips, you stand up and tidy the golden and red dress back in your closet. You take out a blue and green dress, less lavish and decadent, more cheap. But it’s a dress you paid for yourself, with your own money. 

Yes… 

You deserve to appear as yourself and on your own terms. 

You pick up a peach shade of lipstick and as you go to apply it, its scent reaches your nose and the mix with your perfume makes you gag. You press your hand against your mouth as you feel the sickness rising. You run and have just the time to open your toilet to vomit. Spasms contract your entire body violently. 

Ugh… 

That was weird… 

You wipe your mouth clean, seating down the toilet as sweat rolls on your temples. You spread toothpaste on your toothbrush and start brushing your teeth, getting rid of that rancid taste. Your eyes wander around until ending up on your calendar pinned to the wall. 

The date for your period's beginning has passed by more than two weeks… 

They have always been irregular, but… 

Are you… pregnant? 

----------------------- 

You enter the ballroom with a Wow. With dim lights the room is dark but not in a threatening way, but as a way to keep the secrets of the identities hidden behind the masks. Long and heavy deep green curtains drape the windows and draw a crown of velvet fabric around a large chandelier on the ceiling. The tall windows give way to balconies and let the light of the false moon and stars shine. You watch your steps on this waxed parquet floor, especially on your heels. The golden moldings reflect the feeble lights as the adorned mirrors mounted on the walls. 

All around you Chiss have attired themself with expensive fabrics and jewelry, with masks with encrusted gemstones and delicate painting details. Some wore a traditional robe while others chose designer clothes, clashing with your simple dress. 

For a second you regret not choosing the decadent red and golden dress, afraid of appearing out of place and… unworthy. But you immediately relax when you see a group of young adults with cheaper clothes discussing together. 

That's right, the Mitth may be a rich ruling family but which Merit Adoptive can access the luxury of a blood? Every social standing is represented under this roof, tied by their family name. 

Except for you. 

You are not Mitth. 

Not even Merit Adoptive. 

When the Ascendancy decided to give you to the Mitth after Senior Captain Thrawn found you, he refused to give you a place, even a temporary one. 

So you are still (Y/n)(F/n)... 

Or rather (Y/n)’(F/n), as they pronounce it. 

The human. 

The alien. 

The stray cat. 

You breathe deeply and check that your domino mask is secured. Not that it hides your identity at all, your skin color reveals immediately who you are. You do not share their beautiful deep blue shade and can be identified with a single glance. 

It's okay. 

You step in the ballroom, moving aimlessly among the groups, trying to guess who is who, letting the voices guide you.  

The music is pleasant, if not subtle, barely covering the whispers in your trails. 

You don't miss how the groups suddenly close off when you walk past them, how they lower their voices and their carmine gaze follow you, burning the back of your neck. 

It's okay… 

Just keep the mask of the detached overconfident woman and everything will be alright… You breath and straighten your back, raising your head high and conducting yourself haughtily. 

You forcefully enter a circle where you identified some colleagues, laughing loudly and speaking assuredly, faking assurance like you've done until now. You swing your hips, hand on your waist you speak with confidence.  

Even if it's fake. 

But you're good at it! 

They humor you in a conversation but you know, in their eyes you're the stray cat they can come to for a little bit of exoticism and a good lay.  

The alien with depraved mores. 

They look at you with a mix of disgust, curiosity and hunger. How you are almost Chiss-like, almost… So close to their standards but not enough at the same time. 

It makes you shiver internally. But you fuck with them by always displaying the love bites you gain at night, proving that all honorable and superior they can be they still succomb to the poor little human as much as you do for them.  

It tends to shut their mouth crap quickly. 

You speak brashly, putting on airs and graces. They respond with honey in their voices, chuckling at the audacity of the alien. 

How dare you be so confident for a lowly human? 

You just sniff at those attitudes. 

After a moment you have enough of the backhanded compliments and sly remarks hidden behind a polite smile, you step away to the buffet searching for a drink or a canape to nibble on.  

That's when he decides to make his entrance. You would recognize him anywhere and under any mask. You observed him from far away so many times, you know his gait and his way of carrying himself so well. 

Thurfian. 

Obviously, Patriarch obliges, he appears in a long traditional robe with several layers of fabrics and tissue. Red and golden, of course. You do not need to get close to guess the intricate embroideries stitched in the pricey clothes, the expensive gems sewn in the fabric, the buttons and chains of rare metals…  

They care so much about their crafts after all. 

His mask is elegant, less tacky than some, more tasteful. But you can guess the price he paid to have it done. Adorned with iridescent feathers and simple drops of gold, the mask compliments his regal features wonderfully. 

He looks so handsome, even from far away… 

Untouchable. 

Cold. 

Unreachable… 

You sigh and turn back to the buffet. You notice a cheese canapé that looks absolutely delicious and go to take it but your hand hits another quite large hand that was heading for the same delicacy. 

“I’m sorry.” You present your excuses, raising your head to the owner of the hand and gasping. 

“(Y/n)’(F/n)?” Mitth’raw’nuruodo asks, sounding almost surprised. 

His domino mask covers the higher half of his face but this voice and stature is unmistakable. Only Thrawn is this tall and buff. 

Not to your distaste, not at all. 

The Senior Captain Thrawn is usually always on the roads of the Chaos, flushing out threats against the Ascendancy before they get too big. You rarely see him at the manor as he usually prefers his city apartment to the political traps that are Chiss houses. 

“When did you come back, Senior Captain?” You inquire joyfully. 

 You are not quite friends but Thrawn was by far the most welcoming of all the Chiss you came to meet, his curiosity and thirst for knowledge pushing him to keep your relationship cordial and pleasant for you to continue to teach him about your region. You once spent an entire evening explaining to him the significance of the clothes you carried in your luggage when he found you half dead on your destroyed, drifting ship. He listened intently, taking close looks to your dresses and robes, the embroideries and laces, the ribbons and colors choices. He took interest in the family heirlooms you brought with you, your jewelry and your silly watercolors doodles and sketches. 

What did he see in all of that? Beat you. 

But he was really interested and thanked you for all the information you gave him during those evenings and you jokingly responded that you would draw his portrait for him to keep studying you under every angle and very, very closely. 

He clearly didn’t catch your innuendo. He seems to have a thick skull for those things. 

Which amuses you tremendously, so you started flirting with him each time you met him and he kept not understanding, making you laugh a lot in response. 

In some aspects this is truly adorable. 

“We arrived a week ago.” He informs you, “I was at my apartment, planning some strategies.” 

You also suspect he appreciates your company specifically because as a nobody alien under Mitth surveillance you have no political leverage against him. You picked upon how bad at politics he is and your lack of power in this field must be… reassuring to him. 

He doesn’t give you any details about his missions for all that, and you don’t try to know more. 

Frankly you are not interested in military matters and Thrawn appears competent enough to protect the Ascendancy so you decided to blindly trust him in this domain. 

“What type of art did you use this time?” You smile broadly, ready for the sea of information he will release upon you once he starts speaking about art. 

This is his special interest and being curious about it proved to be a good way to gain points in his book.  

“I used wood statuettes carved during the eight period of the…” And here he goes. 

You sip on a drink while he explains in lavish details his study of the statuettes, explaining any minute clues in long sentences, getting lost in his enthusiasm even if it only reaches his sparkling eyes and not the rest of his face. 

“You are so cultivated, Senior Captain Thrawn, when do you find time to study so much during your missions?” You manage to slip between two phrases.  

“I sleep very little.” He explains, “And it is an integral part of my strategy, the safest way for me to build my tactics.” 

“Could you teach me one day?” You take a step further to get closer to his large, tall body. 

Maker, he is so tall… That does something to you. 

You smirk in your mind, the misfit of the Mitth and the stray cat…That does sound nice to you. 

“I am afraid this is outside of my field of competence.” He shakes his head with a subtle sorry tone, “I cannot properly put into words how I understand other species' ways with art, I just… know it when I observe their arts.” 

“Too bad.” You falsely sigh, “Could you at least try? I am a very, very good student and I need to be able to detect traps in my line of work.” You roll your ‘r’ like a purring that they do so well. 

You take another step, almost pressing yourself against him. He remains still, his hands clasped behind his back. 

“I am afraid it is not possible.” He assures, “But I can propose to you to teach you art history of the different Chaos’ regions?” 

You just want an excuse to spend time with him, art history is as good as anything else. 

“I would be delighted, Senior Captain Thrawn.” You exclaim joyfully but with a sultry, alluring tone. 

You really appreciate Thrawn. He is a refined gentleman, polite and cultivated, never a bad word soiling his mouth, with a deep, melodious and… exciting voice. 

And he is not ugly to look at, far from that! His features are elegant and royal, his carmine gaze highly intelligent and inquisitive.  

Making your legs like jello. 

He is quite different from Thurfian in so many ways. More friendly once you get to know him, more open minded and ready to extend his hand to aliens, proved that they have no ill intents towards the Ascendancy of course. 

You chuckle as you remember yourself threatening Thurfian to go see Thrawn if he didn’t spend time with you. It was far from an empty threat. Thrawn was always to your taste. 

You imagine yourself well in the arms of such an elegant man. 

And if he refuses…Then you will just spend the rest of your day in a little room with a crowd of native Csilla cats, that sounds nice too. 

“But tell me rather, Senior Captain. I would have never imagined you playing along in a masked ball! Did you receive orders of some kind?” You smirk playfully at him. 

You have a hard time imagining Thurfian ordering Thrawn to come home. 

“I am accompanying someone from my crew, she was really interested in this soiree and insisted it would be good for me.”  

Crap, he has a partner. 

“Oh really?” You swing your hips, “Where is your lady right now?” You ask innocently. 

“She left me to salute some people.” He explains. 

You gauge him intently and smirk. 

“Your partner abandoned you and you rushed to the buffet to avoid people, am I right?”  

“I… Yes.” He admits, “I do not navigate political situations well. She was supposed to be my mediator with Syndics tonight and helps with my current image with politicians. But-” 

“But she left you and you panicked.” You nod understandingly. 

“I tactically retreated.” He corrects politely. “But you have the scene right. I, regretfully, cannot do any good on my own in this field.” 

You pass your arms around his, pressing yourself against him. He is really warm, really pleasant to the touch. 

“Well, I have no political leverage myself but I met some high syndics for my job as assistant. I can present you to some big guys, be polite and charming as you do so well and everything will be alright!” 

And without waiting for his response you drag him into the crowd of masked Chiss, researching some politicians with whom you could smooth out Thrawn’s image. 

You spend an hour and a half pulling him from person to person, engaging the conversation with top hats of the family insolently, not hesitating to impose yourself in the groups. Thrawn remained set back, but polite. 

If you didn’t know him you would say he was intimidated. But you know better, he just takes care to not slip off. 

You, you have your fun. You laugh and clink your drink with other glasses, presenting yourself and the Senior Captain with an impudent confidence. You try to get Thrawn to start on art or military strategies, a field where he is comfortable, trying to offer a nicer portrait of him to politicians. 

And a nicer one of yours. 

To you it is quite amusing. 

Even if you feel a flaming gaze burning the back of your head during all this time. 

Thrawn’s partner joined you rapidly after you started your political campaign, a certain Mitth’ali’astov. She was terribly sorry to have left Thrawn alone in this nest of nighthunters and presented you with her excuses, and thanks for taking care of him while she stepped away. 

She didn’t seem to mind your humanness that much, all things considered. 

You raise your head when you hear the music pick up. You grab Thrawn’s arm and head towards the dance floor. 

“You owe me a dance, Senior Captain!” 

He follows you without a fuss but with a light chuckle. 

“Really?”  

“I spent my whole soiree polishing your portrait to all of those stuck up Syndics while I could have danced and drank until I fell on the ground!” 

“You seemed to amuse yourself quite a lot on the contrary.” He counters, vaguely entertained. 

“Just dance with me!”  

He takes you in his arms and starts valsing with you. 

He is… not a good dancer, you realize. He has difficulties following the music and offering you a good pace. But you don’t care, it makes you laugh. To be surrounded by such false masks of politeness and flattery and meet such genuine mistakes is refreshing and relaxing. 

It makes the atmosphere less oppressive that a man like Thrawn can have difficulties doing something. 

“You seem terribly amused once again.” He notes. 

“You’re such a terrible dancer, Senior Captain.” You snark. 

“I am sorry. Music and dance are not my forte.” 

“It is quite good!” You reassure him, “It’s reassuring to know you encounter difficulties too!” You joke. 

“You are welcome?” He responds puzzled. 

You dance together, threatening to bump into other couples but Thrawn evades everyone with more or less grace. You let yourself be carried by his lead, even if he isn’t good at it, smiling and laughing to your heart's content. 

A new sensation of sickness rises and you shiver inadvertently. 

“Are you alright? Do you wish to stop?” Thrawn immediately proposes. 

“No… No, it’s nothing.” You smile, trembling a bit. 

“Do you want some fresh air?” 

He is quite attentionate and observant of your well being. 

You feel safe and at peace with him. You envision yourself well with him. You would make a cute couple, the misfit and the alien. 

“No, everything is fine.”  

You pass your hand behind his neck and pull him down and you audaciously kiss his cheek. The burning sensation at the back of your neck gets worse. 

“But I thank you for the worry.” You murmur in Thrawn’s ear. 

You have no idea how he will react. He has been so blind to any and all of your advances, you are about to discover it for yourself. 

He seems to freeze under your lips, but he remains silent, simply straightening his back again. He looks at you intently, his rubies gauging your very soul. 

You do not flinch or back down, looking straight in his shining red eyes without any fear or shame and offer him a bright smile in return. His shoulders seem to relax slightly. 

“A problem?” You innocently ask. 

“No.” He responds and makes you twirl on the dance floor. 

He reacted better than expected! You almost thought he would push away for trespassing his boundaries but he seems almost… pleased? 

You’re probably imagining things. 

As you swirl with him, you catch a glance of Thurfian in the ballroom. 

He is fixated on you, not minding the syndics talking to you. His lips thin as a line are a testament of his sentiments right now. 

You turn your head away and focus on Thrawn, smiling blissfully to the handsome man. He offers you a light loopsided smile in return, making your twirl and making your head turn in more ways than one.  

You giggle and press yourself against the Senior Captain under the pretense to help him lead the dance, if he finds it uncomfortable or too forward you trust he will push you back. 

He doesn’t stop you and assures a tighter grip on your back. 

The dance regrettably comes to an end but Thrawn doesn’t release you, on the contrary he seems to press you tighter against his muscular body. 

“Maybe… You could teach me how to dance properly.” He starts, “Maybe we-” 

“It is good etiquette to switch partners at the end of a dance.” A regal voice resonates behind your back. 

You spin to meet Thurfian, observing the both of you with a seemingly pissed off expression. But his face is pretty well hidden under his intricate mask. 

“You are right, my apologies.” Thrawn admits. 

You look at him. Did he recognize his Venerante? He lets you go but takes your hand to gently kiss your knuckles. 

“I wish you a delightful soiree, (Y/n)’(F/n).” 

You respectfully bow your head to him. 

“I wish you the same, Senior Captain.”  

And he leaves you. 

You do not dare to turn to Thurfian, feeling the flames of his eyes on your neck, absolutely burning your skin. 

“Will you turn to me?” He demands. 

You bite your lower lips and spin slowly. 

He is not pleased, at all… 

You bow to him, deeper this time. 

“Your Venerante.” You say with the most assured voice you can muster. 

He grabs your hands and presses you against him hard, starting the next dance. 

He is a well finer dancer than Thrawn would possibly ever be, leading you with grace and elegance, meeting your steps with ease and installing a better pace. 

“Are you having fun?” He asks harshly. 

He is smaller than Thrawn, but still taller than the average Chiss man and, mostly, human man. He towers over you, gauging you up and down with his scorching gaze. This close his beauty is simply undeniable, making your stomach twist in knots like he can do so well. 

“Yes, your Venerante. It is truly a very enthralling ball.” You try to mediate the situation. 

His grips tighten almost painfully on your hand and back, making you wince. 

“Stop playing with me. What were you doing with him among everyone else?” He bites, making you twirl and turn expertly. “Where is your dress? I chose a red and golden dress specifically for you to honor the Mitth.” 

You suddenly feel pissed off to be ordered around like a dog in work and in your private life. 

“Well it is part of my elaborate plan to protect your reputation, of course!” You sarcastically bite back, “Everyone but him knows you cannot bear his presence, what better cover but him to hide our little affair?”  

You hear him growl under the music. 

“What!? Why are you not pleased? You are never pleased with whatever I do!” You press. “Who could imagine the Oh so Great Mitth Patriarch seeing the filfthy human behind everyone’s back if she flirts with the weirdo of the family!?” You bare your teeth to him. 

“You play a very dangerous game, (Y/n).’’ He warns with an icy cold voice. 

“I’m fed up with your own game!” Your tone is acidic even if your voice is low to not get caught, “I’m always supposed to be at your disposal but you’re never here for me! You offer me presents to buy my silence when you know very well I want your presence more than anything else! You ignore me when we cross paths, not even a polite greeting because you’re just… scared to acknowledge me!” 

“Mind your tone, human.” 

“You’re just terrified to get caught! You want your cake and eat it too! You parade yourself with all those Chiss women but come back running to me when the flashes of the journalists stopped!” You know you should shut up but you cannot stop anymore. 

“Silence!” He warns again. 

“That would be terrible for you, right?! If the mighty Mitth Patriarch would be revealed seeing the alien under house arrest! Did you stop once and wondered how I felt to be enjoyed and then tossed aside like a disgrace until you get hungry for me again?! You take advantage of me and then stifle me into silence to not damage your reputation! You buy me clothes for the Mitth’s glory without wondering if it fits my taste or comfort! You come and take and leave me alone, knowing I have no support here.” 

“You have the entire Mitth family as support.” He counters with a sharp tone. 

“Everyone avoids me! Everyone ignore me! Hell, everyone hates me! This is precisely why I came to you in the first place, I needed guidance and help and you served yourself! The only one I had a remotely good relationship with is a Senior Captain you are way too happy to send away from the Manor! Are you doing it on purpose to isolate me or what?!” 

“You give yourself too much importance. You do not enter my plans like that.” He snarls with disdain. 

“Fine!” And you pull yourself off his arms.“Then leave me in peace!” 

You turn your back to him and walk away. 

You kept your tone low all the time and nobody heard anything, only wondering why one of the couples on the dancefloor stopped dancing. You walk away when suddenly all the lights flickers and a black out occurs. A complain from the guests rises as you’re suddenly in a horror holo, surrounded by disembodied red eyes all around you. 

You suddenly feel a strong hand gripping your arm and you yelp as you get dragged outside the ballroom by a secret door hidden behind one of the heavy green curtains. 

You groan and growl, trying to escape Thurfian’s grips but he has so much strength. The more you struggle the more his grip tightens, digging his nails in the soft flesh of your arm. You wince and snarl, pulling to get away but he drags you across the corridor until you reach a new door you’re being pushed inside a barely lighted bedroom. 

You almost trip up on your feet as he pushes you and closes the door. You swiftly turn towards him, absolutely out of yourself, but before you can say anything Thurfian is on you, kissing you harshly, gripping your chin in his fist. 

“I never had the responsibilities of such an unruly and ungrateful woman.” He growls, “You are driving me mad, human.” 

He keeps kissing you in a demanding embrace but you slap him across the face, sending his expensive mask flying across the room. 

He looks at you stunted with a gasp, his hand raising to touch his cheek, not believing you dared raise your hand against his person. 

On your hand you are so distressed you start trembling, a sob rising in your throat until you break under his gaze. 

“Why?” You start crying, “Why do you never listen to me?” You hide your face in your hands with ugly sobs, “Why can’t we just talk for once? Just once… I am not asking for much…” 

He remains silent, stupefied by your action. You see a trail of blood flourishing on his blue cheek where your nails scratched his skin and drops of blood start rolling on his delicate flesh. 

“I just want a simple date, anything where we don’t need to hide… Something simple. I just don’t want you to see me as a dishonor…” You gasp, trying to breathe, “Am I such a shame to you? Do you hate me so much?” You sniff with big tears rolling on your own cheeks. 

He observes his blood rolling on his fingers, mouth slightly agape. His blood must have rarely been drawn during his life, he is not used to seeing it. He turns his gaze to you, eyes wide open in shock.   

Your stomach contracts as a new wave of sickness washes over you and you press your hand against your mouth, taking support on the wall. You feel a cold sweat rising up your spine. 

Thurfian seems to calculate his errors and extends his hand tentatively to you but you slap it away. 

“Don’t touch me!” You shout. “Don’t…” 

Your hand comes caressing your stomach. 

What if you are pregnant then?  

What now? 

What will become of you? 

What will he say? 

He would surely ask you to abort immediately. He surely could never bear his precious Mitth blood to mix up with alien genes.  

But that could be your only chance to have a baby of your own.  

No Chiss wants to enter a serious relationship with you, why would they? You’re just good enough for one night and a little taste of exoticism. The only one who would is Thrawn, but even he is untouchable, never taking a hint. 

Thurfian kept you as a pet for his private collection, nothing more… You will never be more than the stray cat of the family. 

You broke down even more, kneeling down in your pain, holding your stomach to protect your baby.  

Blinded by your tears you hear the door shut and steps walking away. 

Thurfian left you. 

He must finally be fed up with you and your antics 

And now you are alone. 

Definitively alone… 

You raise your head, surprised, as you hear steps coming back. 

He didn't leave, he entered the adjacent bathroom and came back with a wet towel that he presses on your neck gently. You look up to him, not understanding anything. 

He wrinkles his nose. 

“Did you expect me to leave when a woman is in clear distress?” He asks like his honor was at risk. 

You gasp and try to get back control over your erratic breath between your tears. He pulls on the strings of your mask and lets it fall on your lap, revealing your face fully to his eyes. 

“Can you stand?” He asks a little harshly, but… less than all your previous interaction. 

You nod, sniffing. He places his hand under your armpit and helps you to the bed for you to sit. You sit down, still shuddering and hugging yourself, he sits next to you and pat your face with the fresh, wet towel delicately. 

“You are impossible.” He sneers. 

You shudder again, too thin skinned right now to take the beating. 

His action contradicts his mean words, leaving you lost and disoriented. You release your breath as he gently wipes your forehead. 

“Now, let’s talk.” He says, a tad nicer but cold, “You had grievances I came to understand.” 

You roll your hands into fists, pinching the skin of your arm. Why must everything be so cold and sterile with him? Why is everything deadly serious? Why can’t he smile your way? 

You lower your head. 

“I just want… You to be more present. To be here for me…” 

“Aren’t I present enough? I have little time for hobbies and a lot of other people to meet.” He retorts. 

You take the hit, burying yourself deeper in your pain. He prefers seeing his other babies than giving you more time. 

“I just want you… To be proud to have me at your arm…” You continue with a shaken voice. 

“You know we can’t appear publicly together. I am not ashamed of you but I have an image to maintain.” He keeps rebuffing. 

You nod, destroyed. 

“I know… I am not good enough for the Chiss, even less a Patriarch.” You murmur. 

“Such simplification. You know the political repercussions if the head of a family chooses an alien instead of a Chiss as a partner. The ramifications between families would be so shaken it could lead to a diplomatic disaster.” 

That’s all it is about with them, yeah? 

Politics, diplomacy… Fruitful relationships between families. 

No place for little you here. 

And it stabs your heart. You fantasized about your life with Thurfian so many times, waking up with him in the same bed, enjoying breakfast together, preparing his clothes and helping him braid his long hair for the day… A simple domestic life. 

But it’s no use now, heh? 

“I understand…” You give in. 

“If this isn’t to your taste, then… “ He remains mute for a second, “Maybe we should stop here.” 

The blade pierces your heart, slashing it open and letting it gush blood. You dare not meet his piercing gaze but feel it on your profile. 

You gulp, nails deep into your tender flesh. 

You open your mouth to say something but a new wave of sickness comes and seizes you and you shudder again. 

“Do you want to go to the bathroom?” He asks. 

You shake your head. 

It will pass. 

Everything does. 

“Did you eat something bad?” He investigates with his authoritative tone. 

If only he knew… 

“No…” You manage to say between your sickness, “No I…. I…” 

He looks at you impatiently but remains silent, letting you speak at your own pace. 

You gulp and breathe through your nose to gather strength. 

“I think… I am pregnant.” You manage to push the words past your lips. 

You curl up over yourself, ready to get blasted by a storm. 

“My, my. My congratulations, who did you manage to entrap?” 

Your eyes open wide. 

What? 

You turn to him, at loss for words. He’s looking at you with his signature haughty look, lasciviously resting his head on his hand, his elbow on the bed table. 

“Etiquette wants the Patriarch to send a bouquet to the couple, as a thanks to make the family grow.” He keeps going, “Did you warn him yet?” 

You open your mouth agape. You don't know how to respond to that. 

“No I… Thurfian, I think they are yours…” 

He looks you up and down, ostensibly gauging you before he cracks up a carefully crafted smile. 

“Of course they’re mine, with all the men you must see behind my back they are obviously mine.” 

You feel ire spreading in your veins. You never trapt anyone! This isn’t your style, you do not even see as many men as you used to, especially after starting to see Thurfian. You understood rapidly he was quite jealous and even if he never explicitly forbade you from seeing someone else you could feel his disapprobation in his tone and burning gaze. You open your mouth to clap back and another sickness wave silences you immediately. You moan with dizziness. 

“Is a child even compatible with your lifestyle?” He thinks out loud, holding his chin between his fingers, “I can find you an abortion clinic if you want.”  

You feel struck by lightning and the wound of your heart grows larger. You cannot even have this baby? Will he take everything from you? 

“Thurfian…” You plead, “I-I beg of you… do not make me do that…” you manage to say weakly. 

He tilts his head in response. 

“I am not forcing you to do anything. This baby is not my problem. If you wish to keep it, do it.” 

How does he know a clinic name by head so quickly? How many abortion did he ordered already? 

“The father may have a different opinion.” He finishes. 

“Please listen to me.” You continue, “I am not trying to set a trap for you… This is your baby. The dates correspond, you’re the only man I saw... in a very long time. I beg of you to trust me.”  

He sideglances you with a snarl. 

“When did your periods stop?” He groans at the end of his patience. 

“More than 4 weeks ago.” 

His nostrils flare but you see in his gaze the shadow of a doubt flashing. He remembers the steamy evening you spent together 4 weeks ago. And he distinctly remembers the lack of protection. You see him calculating all the possibilities at light speed before turning his head to you, looking at you intently. 

“You are lying to me.” He decides. 

You groan, pissed off among the dizzy feelings. 

“When was the last time I lied to you?” You demand, “Did I ever lie to you once?” 

You see him wince for a split second. You pride yourself in your honesty, no matter the problems it might bring you and he knows that. 

“Never.” He admits reluctantly, “This is one of your qualities.”  

You grab his sleeve, looking into his carmine eyes. 

“Thurfian.” You say incredibly seriously, “I am not lying. This is your baby. Everything checks out.”  

You see him wanting to say something back, shutting you down definitely and coming on top. 

But he finds nothing, and slowly, the realization of his error grows in his mind. He turns away, surely regretting his actions now, regretting seeing you ever. 

He is in a dead end. 

‘How the mighty fall’ you silently think. 

He suddenly turns to you furiously. 

“I saw you drink!” He bites, “Did you have the audacity to drink alcohol with my legacy in your womb?”  

 You're so taken aback by his reaction you can only offer a toneless response. 

“No… It was simple juice…” You defend yourself. 

He stands up and paces back and forth the bedroom, his hands clasped behind his back and eyebrows frowned, deeply thinking. 

How to get out of this with his honor intact? 

The alien is potentially pregnant with a Mitth. Worse! With him. 

You look at him walking aimlessly in the room, your dizziness subsiding gradually and letting you breathe more easily. 

He suddenly stops and flips to you. 

“Do you feel better?” 

You nod. 

He seizes your hand and forces you on your feet and drags you outside in the corridor. You follow, not understanding a thing. He pulls you around many corridors where nobody crosses your path. 

He chooses his way with application. 

You finally reach a backdoor letting on the backside garden of the hotel, he keep going trough the verdurous nature carefully crafted by the gardeners until you arrive at the parking and he  pushes you inside a limousine. His limousine you figure. With a sharp sentence he orders the driver to start and find a pharmacy, pronto! 

You cower on your seat, feeling Thurfian boiling in silence on the seat next to you. He remains silent, eyes fixed straight ahead, his mind racing. You only give him discrete side glances, like he would explode to your face if he realized you were looking at him. 

Rapidly the lights of Csaplar wrap around the expensive car and you speed in the streets of the Capital City of the Chiss. You lay your forehead against the window, observing all of those Chiss, each with their joys and misfortunes. 

Would they sympathize with you despite your alieness? Would they see the distraught future mother in you or just the ‘other’. 

“Stop here.” Thurfian orders suddenly. “(Y/n) you remain inside!”  

You nod obediently to not get even more on his bad side. 

As he enters the pharmacy in his regalia and bloody face you caress your stomach. Trying to find signs of life in your womb. Your hand remains over the place your baby would grow and you feel new tears rising behind your eyes. You hold them back, refusing to let your weak side win once again. 

You will need all your strength to fight Thurfian. 

Now that he seems to accept the possibility that the baby is his, the threat of the abortion seems to have grown closer, looming over you. 

He said he would take care of you and the child but that was only theorical, now that it is here in front of him nothing is less credible than this declaration. 

You may need to flee the manor and Csilla entirely if you want to keep your little one! 

You need your mind clear and peaceful. 

You turn to the door opening once again and Thurfian sits back down… His face is still bloody. 

He didn’t enter to get dressed? 

“To the Manor.” He orders once again, deadly cold. 

He has a little plastic bag on his laps, the thing he bought in the pharmacy surely. You fight the yen to ask what it is, instead focusing in gathering all your points for the future argument. 

Because you won’t escape it, that’s for sure. 

You reach the familiar Mitth Manor as you go through your bullet points list in your mind and Thurfian grabs your hand once again to guide you to his personal suite. He pushes the plastic bag in your hands and then pushes you inside the bathroom without any words. 

You’re left mouth agape and with unanswered questions. You open the back to discover pills against dizziness and vomiting and… A pregnancy test. 

The message is clear… 

-------------------- 

You reopen the bathroom door in complete silence and shoulders low. Thurfian is seating in one of his luxurious armchair, sipping a glass of alcohol, surely to calm down his nerves. 

You approach with little steps, the will to appear confident and insolent disappeared after all this emotions. 

Now you’re just tired and wish of the day to finally end. 

He gives you a side glance as you reach his side, silently asking the question.  

You gulp, refraining sobs and show the test. 

“Negative.” You let him know. 

You are not pregant. 

No baby, no little one… 

His gaze travels from the test to your saddened face. He finally extends his hand to observe it for himself. 

“You must be relieved.” You say full of venom but with an exhausted voice. 

He looks intently at the single line on the small screen, making the test roll between his fingers. 

“It is… relieving indeed.” He finally lets out. 

But this is not his relieved tone. 

Not at all… 

Instead he seems… Displeased? Saddened? 

You look at him in silence, trying to decipher his mood. He finishes his glass in one single large gulp and puts it down the table with a resonating clank. 

“This is an excellent news.” He repeats louder, but once again without his heart. 

You fidget your fingers, not daring to even try to understand this man. You just look at him. 

He stands up on his feet, handing you the test. 

“You must be relieved too.” He argues. 

“No…” You admit, “Not really….” 

“Because you cannot trap me with you now?” He asks sarcastically. 

You raise your eyes to his carmine gaze to find that the sarcasm didn’t reach his eyes. 

Instead he appears… tired, almost disappointed. 

“I thought you would be happier?” You ask. 

“You forgot the mask we wear, human. I need not an explicit demonstration to let my joy be heard.” 

“For now you rather seem disappointed.” You try. 

You see a flash of anger in his eyes but it softens, almost against his will, in front of your clear gaze. 

“You imagine things, (Y/n)’(F/n).” 

“Am I?” 

He growls, turning away from you, but you seize his shoulder gently, forcing him to face you again. 

“Thurfian…You can speak to me.” You call gently, “I have no power against any of you, remember?” You laugh a little, trying to relax the atmosphere. 

He looks into your human eyes, his shoulder tense but they seem to relax subtly under your touch. He sighs and sits back in the armchair. 

“I need to father an heir.” He lets out. “As a Patriarch it is one of my most sacred duties to offer the Mitth family a new offspring for the next generation. I must set an example.”  

You sit down on the table next to him, higher than him but he doesn’t seem to care. 

“You have numerous lovers.” You murmur, “You will have heirs easily.” 

Why do you even try to comfort him? He is the one who suggested you go to an abortion clinic because you saw ‘too many’ men! 

But when you see his tense expression your heart cannot help but melt. 

You cannot help but love this Chiss. 

“‘Lovers’ you say.” He scoffs, “Those are paid women. No one would take the risk to end up pregnant, not when their whole livelihood is at risk. The others are women blinded by power and fortune. I need a woman with her head on her shoulders, not one to give in to temptation.” 

“You don’t have a single genuine relationship?” you investigate, surprised. 

You knew Thurfian didn’t deprived himself of the services of some professional women, but you always thought he also had true meaningful relationships next to it. He sees so much different women you were persuaded at least some were genuinely into him. He is a handsome, rich and powerful man, he still has all his charms and chances despite his older age… He managed to completely enchant you, why not Chiss women? 

“No, I have no time for them.” He responds like it was obvious, “I dedicated all of my life to my work and my greatest reward was the Patriarch rank. I need no other thing in my life.” 

‘Except a woman willing to bear your children.’ You think but take care to not voice. He would surely slap you for the affront. 

“How did Thooraki manage?” You ask. 

“He was married young and way before acceding the Patriarch rank.” He answers almost tiredly, his slender fingers combing his luscious hair back. 

He sighs deeply, his head laying back on the back of the armchair, exposing his delicate neck to your view. You gulp slightly at that beautiful view. He opens his eyes to fix the ceiling, lost in his thoughts. 

You look at him, crossing and uncrossing your legs. 

Wait. 

Does that mean…? 

“So, outside of me you have no true relationship?” You ask. 

He growls again, flashing his long, pearly white incisors. 

“Do not mock me. I remain your Patriarch.” He warns. 

“Technically I am not even a Mitth.” You counter, “You are not my Patriarch but my jailer.”  

He shoots you a black side glance, but caves in. 

“What a pitiful Patriarch I make…” 

You put your hand on his shoulder tenderly, comfortingly… 

“No, you are not Thurfian.” You say gently, “You are admirable. You lead your family expertly and watch over every single of its members. This is worthy of admiration.” 

He sneers lightly. 

“Your Cheuhn vocabulary is still limited even after all this time, human.”  

You slap his shoulder to stop his mocking smile from growing wider. 

“But you are right. You are the only one I have at this moment.” He says almost to himself. 

And his hand comes to lay on your thighs, gently caressing them with his thumbs. You lay your own on his and he grasps it, squeezing it lightly. 

“You will find a proper Chiss woman, one that would be happy to be the mother of your children.” You encourage. 

“I lack time. I am getting older each passing day and my agenda is always cramped, how am I supposed to meet ‘the one’ like that?” He asks rhetorically. 

“Well, if you start by stopping seeing all those professionals you’ll find your agenda surprisingly lighter suddenly.” You gently mock. 

He chuckles slightly with you, appearing tired of everything. 

“You are wiser than you first appear, (Y/n)’(F/n)” He retorts. 

You sigh exaggeratedly, still holding his blue hand. He doesn’t let go either. His eyes remain fixed on the ceiling. 

“But when you told me you were pregnant with me, I… had hope for a fleeting moment.” He reveals. 

Your heart skips a beat. 

What did he just say? 

“You mean you would have wanted this child?” You investigate, restless. 

“Of course. They remain my blood.” He just says, “I already told you I would take my responsibilities if you ended up pregnant. I would not have abandoned you nor the child. I am not heartless.” 

“You have a reputation to defend and protect.” You argue. 

“A Patriarch who aborts their own children is a disgrace, we are not held to the same standards as the rest of the Chiss. We cannot renounce them either, and I would not have.” 

“Even if they are only half Chiss?” 

The question is asked, no backing down now. 

 He sighs deeply and lays his head on your thighs, to your surprise! You are so taken aback you don’t know what to do, so you tentatively start caressing his gorgeous mane. 

He doesn’t stop you, so you keep going. You lightly graze the cut on his cheek. At least the blood stopped flowing. 

“The laws are nebulous on this point.” He murmurs, “I have the sentiment no half blood is supposed to see the light of day, that the Chiss are to avoid it at all cost.” 

“But… But you came inside me last time.” You say lost, “You told me yourself you would support us.”  

“Maybe… I was hoping for a happy accident…” He delicately caresses your round thighs, “I lack time and maybe I hoped you would end up pregnant and give me a baby, despite everything… If I cannot give the Mitth an heir I still desire a child for myself.” 

The air is sucked off your lungs by the shock, you feel your hands starting to tremble as you caress his hair.  

In that instant you realize you and Thurfian are more alike than you first thought. You both just want someone that will not hate you. You for being an alien and him for the misfortune to be Thooraki’s heir to the Patriarch rank. Thooraki was well respected but above all loved by the Mitths and Thurfian seems to stand on a shaky ground. Mitths have elected him as Patriarch but very clearly appear wary of him... To the point that his first aid Thivik seems to regret their late Patriarch to the new one. 

He must feel alone on his throne.  

“Thurfian?” You whisper incredulous, “Are you telling me that… You wanted me to bear your child?” 

He keeps caressing your thigh, almost like he didn’t hear you, but you know he has. 

“Why not?” He finally says, “I appreciate you and your company. You have terrible manners but you save it with other qualities…” 

“But I’m human…” You insist 

He turns his head to meet your gaze. 

“Is your view of my personhood that unfavorable?” 

You gulp under such burning eyes. He looks straight at you without shame or reserve, seeing through your vulnerable human soul with his shiny glare. Squirmish, you press your thighs together and wiggle on your wooden table. 

But there are some details you cannot look over! 

“How could I know? You always refused to adopt me in the family! Right now I am not even a Merit Adoptive!” 

“I know…” He admits, “I was afraid they would suspect something if I let you enter. I wanted to cover my tracks.”  

“Do you have a single idea how that hurts?!” You greet your teeth. “How rejected I felt?!” 

He straightens his back but keeps looking at you. 

“I am sorry.” He confesses  

His hand caresses your cheek as you tremble, gently tilting your head forward until he can capture your lips in an infinitely soft kiss. Your lips barely graze, like butterflies flapping their wings in the wind, you can feel his warm breath on your parted lips. 

“You taste like peaches.” He says lowly and kisses you again. 

You cannot help a little smile against his soft mouth. 

“How would you treat them once they are born?” You ask, still suspicious. 

“They will be blood Mitth, as I am. They will receive the best education the family can offer, they will get a generous pension and lands to manage. I will treat them with all regards due to their rank.” He reassures you. 

“And what would I become? Will I remain the stray of the Mitth?” You press. 

“(Y/n), if you give me a healthy baby I promise to give you a rank among the family.” He offers you seriously. “You will become a Mitth as everyone else around you, others will give you the respect you deserve for your service to grow the family.” He captures your lips again, more demanding and desperate you ever saw him, “Please say yes. (Y/n)... Give me a child.” 

‘Will you marry me?’ The question burns your lips, but you bury it deep. 

You never revealed your love for him and know nothing of his true feelings towards you, now is not the time to scare him away and your best chance to get stability in the Ascendancy. 

So you kiss him back, with vigor and fervor, circling his neck with your arms as he clasps his arms around your waist. 

“Will you?” He parts with you with feverish red burning eyes. 

“Yes.” You nod, “I will give you a baby, Thurfian.”   

He sighs satisfied and kisses you again, losing himself in you. 

“Did you take the medicine?” He stops again. 

You pause. 

Your stomach stopped hurting and you don’t feel any sickness anymore. 

“Yes. It’s surprisingly potent!” You admit. 

“Good.” And he lifts you up in his arms with ease. 

He’s not a warrior or a soldier but he takes great care of himself! Patriarch duties are incredibly demanding after all, good physical health and stamina are essential to survive a single day here. You yelp at the sensation to be lifted all of the sudden and hold on to him as he carries you to his large bed. He lays you down softly, kissing your neck. He claps his hand and all the lights dim down, accentuating the shimmer of his carmine gaze. 

“I need you to be healthy and focused tonight.” He whispers, biting your ear as one of his hands comes to seize the zipper at the back of your dress.  

You raise on your elbows to give him better access and start licking and sucking the skin of his neck, letting purple love bites on his flesh. He growls in approval and pulls the zipper down, passing his hands behind the fabric to caress the nude skin of your back. You circle his neck again and pull him down to force him to lay on you. 

You want to feel the weight of his entire body on yours. 

He is so warm, you can feel it radiate through the layers of fabric of his traditional robe but you want to feel his warm blue skin on yours now! You feverishly seize his collar to find the buttons or chain helding it close but his hand stops you easily. 

“Shhhhhhhhh. Let’s take our time…” He calms your ardors down, “Let us savor the experience.” He sighs lasciviously, licking your neck. 

Thurfian never wants to take his time. Never! 

He wants a good lay and he wants it quick! 

You look at him with round eyes, heavy with suspicion. 

“Do not look at me like that.” He chastises you. 

“You always have your way and throw me out of the room immediately after.” You counter. 

He kisses your knuckles. 

“It will not happen anymore.” He says tenderly, kissing each of your fingertips and your palms.  

You sniff, incredulous. 

“You have my word.” He assures. 

And he resumes kissing you deeply, languorously… His tongue meets and dances with yours softly as he holds your cheek in his warm palm. You moan in the kiss, demanding for more. 

So he gently pulls on the shoulder of your dress to undress your top to reveal your black laced bra to his burning gaze. 

“Beautiful.” He approves, “But the Mitth colors suit you way better.” 

You chuckle. He really stands by it! 

He sucks and bites your sensitive neck, leaving love bites on your own skin, marking you as his. He slowly goes down, kissing his way to your collarbone and further. He kisses and licks the plump of your breast before grazing the thin skin with his long incisors, threatening to pierce the skin. You let your head fall on the bed, leaving your body  at his entire mercy, leaving him to do as he pleases with you. 

But the bite never came. He kisses your bosom reverently instead.  

He pulls the dress til your waist down before slipping the braces of your bra out of his way to reveal your breast fully to him. 

“Gorgeous, so round and soft, just as I love them. Your body is a real treasure (Y/n).” 

You gasp under his caress and kiss. He never took the time to compliment you or appreciate your body, not beyond the pleasure it could give him, before tossing it to the side without another glance. 

But tonight he takes all of his time to explore each and every nook and crannies. He makes your nipple swirl under his thumbs, exciting the nervous buds gently before leaning forward and taking one in his mouth. He sucks your nipples and laps it with his tongue and circling it across. You shudder and moan, combing your fingers in his mane, pressing him down against your craving body. You feel yourself growing hotter and more fébrile under his touch, your pussy awakening from its torpor to demand immediate attention. He growls his own pleasure to you too, not refraining from bestial groans to excite you further. You wave your body and arch your back into his greedy mouth and he purrs in response. 

That single sound sends vibrations through his flexible tongue to your bud and you bite your lower lips, taking a fistfull of his shiny hair, messing his coif. He takes a big sloppy lap at your nipple, leaving drool rolling on the plump of your tit. He kisses it a final time and switches to the other, pinching and swirling the left out. You squirm under his weight, desperate for him to go further, to touch you where you're warm and humid. 

Because you are definitively wet now! 

This change of mood for a gentler lover is appreciated and it excites you tremendously. 

“Thurfian… Thurfian…” You whine, trying to get things moving but he growls a warning, sucking conscientiously on your nipple. 

He kneads and massages the other with his large palm like the soft and delicate matter that it is. He offers so much care and attention to your tits, kissing them like holy relics. A tremble shakes your entire body, making you squeeze his head against your breast, choking him for a split second. 

“Sorry.” You present your excuses. 

“There is no need. Suffocating on your tits is far greater than good. I bet suffocating between your thighs is even better…”  

You choke for a split second. 

Did he just propose to go down on you? 

He never did that! He is above that! 

But he is kissing his way down right now, licking all across your stomach, soiling you with his drool. He stops just ahead of the folds of your dress, giving it a last lick with the tip of his tongue. 

“Place yourself correctly on the bed.” He orders, rising back on his feet. 

You crawl on your back, aligning you correctly with the large bed and coming to rest on the fluffy pillows. You observe Thurfian getting rid of layers and layers of his robes. When he notices you looking at him like a delicious meal he smirks smugly and puts on a little show undressing for your viewing pleasure. Slowing down his gestures and caressing his own body as he finally reveals his chest to you. There is a layer of fat on his chest and stomach but the hard muscles are indisputably here, carving his body out of pure marble.  

He is really well made… You gulp, almost intimidated. 

It feels like discovering his body for the very first time. 

And he is scorching hot! His older age doesn’t spoil a single thing either, Chiss growing older much more gracefully than human and enhancing their haughty air and elegant regal features... 

Your mouth opens slightly, drooling in hunger especially subjected to such alluring spectacle, and you press your thighs together while one of your hands scoops your sex and massages it through the fabric of your panties. He finishes his little show in his boxers and by liberating his mane of all their hair ties and ornaments, letting all his long hair flow in his back freely. He slicks the front strands back with his hand as he crawls towards you like a hungry predator, a growl resonating inside his chest and in the large suite. 

You gulp, his flaming gaze devouring your form like a costly dish he is about to feast on. 

He seizes your knees and opens your legs wide open and his slender hands snake their way up your inner thighs, caressing your flesh lovingly, pushing the dress out of his way up to your hips, revealing your little laced panties. 

Green and blue too. 

He snarls. 

“You have some nerve to come dressed in Stybla's colors to my ball, woman.” 

“It’s the only dress I paid for myself that could make the cut for such an event.” You try to explain. 

“When you get pregnant I only want you to wear burgundy and gold.” He orders, “No strutting around with my child in a rival family’s color, understood?” 

You swallow before his inquisitive gaze. 

“Could I at least choose the clothes for myself this time?” You negotiate. 

His expression relaxes and he leans forward to tenderly kiss your thighs. 

“Yes, Vutucni.” He purrs, and your pussy clench at how sweet his tone sounds, “But you still deserve a punishment. I will make you come so hard you will beg me to stop.” He warns, licking his lips with a predatory look. 

You shiver, but not of fear or anxiousness, but of desire and anticipation. You’re dying to feel his touch on you, you feel a single caress would make you implode on the spot.  

“That doesn’t seem to trouble you.” He notes, slightly amused, “Quite the contrary.”  

You nod your head enthusiastically and open your legs wider for him. You cannot help but bite your lips with expectation. His large hands hook your panties and pull them, not neglecting to leave love bites all along your legs, sucking on the sensitive flesh. 

But never where you crave it the most. 

You whine pushing your hips closer, begging for him to start, shaking all over with desire. He darkly chuckles. 

“I always appreciated your enthusiasm.” He lets you know, “Sex between Chiss is more… restrictive in some ways. You, you abandon yourself completely to me… I love that.” He praises. 

Your heart clenches, Chiss view on sex is more practical than pleasure oriented. They love not letting the mask of ‘perfection’ slip off their face and a sweaty activity demanding you to be vulnerable and open to the other might be a bit of a threat to their honor. 

Not to say they don’t have pleasure! There is always exceptions to the rule and you know somewhere in Chiss space a lot of couples are fucking like snowrabbits in rut but you also remember how closed off and terribly sterile and formal Thurfian was during your first times, until he started to relax and show his true deviances and kinks to you. 

Cause if you ever started to claim the Patriarch of the family was as perverted and touch starved as everyone else who would give credits to your words? You remained an untrustworthy alien. 

You grab his cheeks and pull him closer to capture his soft lips. You kiss him deep and languorously, robbing you both of your breath. You just felt this pressing desire to kiss him at his words, to make one together. You moan and mewls for his pleasure and he bites your lower lips with guttural groans. His hand sneakily reaches your gaping pussy and trails your fold up and down with his long fingers, coating them well and flicking your little clit with his thumbs, making you react instantly. You gasp in the kiss and he pushes his tongue inside your mouth instead, pressing them together to dance and hug. His second hand comes behind your head to press you tighter, gripping your hair in his fist and pulling on them. Your head is yanked back, exposing your neck to his greedy mouth that he licks thoroughly. He peppers kisses on the bruised spot where the love bites are already appearing. 

“Do not hide your marks tomorrow.” He orders. 

“Will you hide yours?” You tease. 

But you also want to make sure he doesn’t want to show you off while hiding the proof of his sin. 

“Depends.” He sneers darkly, “Will you be good for me tonight?” 

You scoff offended. 

“Am I not always good for you, your Venerante?!” You demand. 

He nudges the tip of his nose with a hickey, a satisfied grin flourishing on his face. 

“I am playing with you, Vutucni.”  

You purse your lips, pouting. He circles your clit harder to make you jolt and gasp, his other flexible fingers toying with your little cunt with practiced ease. 

“You make me lose track of all my objectives, you unruly woman.” He bites the crook of your neck, “Don’t move.” 

He reverently kisses your two tits and places himself correctly and comfortably between your legs, grabbing your thighs with his large hands, keeping them wide apart. 

“You are already wet, but I want you absolutely dripping like a fountain.” He blows on your exposed pussy, making all your inner muscles contract in response, blocking the air in your throat. He takes a tentative lick at your nervous bud, making you jolt immediately. You’re so thin skinned and sensitive at this moment… 

His purr deepens. 

“Very nice reaction, human.” He praises, “But how loud can I really make you scream?” 

And without leaving your time to respond he dives in to take a big sloppy lick of your pussy and starts working. Obscene moans escape you as he works diligently on your folds, trailing the slit up and down with his flexible warm and wet muscle. You feel your legs starting to shake and willing to close to deny him access but he holds them firmly open without difficulties. He kisses and licks your pussylips gluttonously before focusing on your pearl. 

He darts his tongue and titillates it sadistically with light touches, making you crave and beg for more as he just pokes and gives little licks to the heart of your desires. You squirm and whine, inadvertently trying to get away from those torturous touches, but he assures his grips on your plump thighs and starts sucking on your clit like a candy, making it roll between his swollen lips, circling it with his tongue, crossing it and lapping at it. Your hands get a grip on the soft covers, digging your nails in the fabric as you feel yourself getting wetter and wetter, your essence leaking down your puffy flesh but he is here to drink from you, licking you clean, delighting himself in your taste. He doesn’t refrain from voicing his satisfaction to your ears, purring and growling like an actual beast. 

One of his hands leaves your thighs to open your pussylips with two long fingers to expose your hidden flesh to his assaults. You feel your abdominals and inner muscles contracting in waves as he laves at you enthusiastically. He suddenly bites down your clit and you start in pain and pleasure, owning an amused purr in response. Once again, the vibrations of his purr travel through his warm tongue to tease your pearl even more, absolutely forcing you on your knees. 

“Thurfian…” You gasp. 

He hums in response, very pleased by your various reactions of obvious pleasure, encouraging him to continue further. 

He will push your limits until you are screaming between his hands. 

He enters your most secret place with a finger and starts caressing your G spot expertly while sucking on your clitoris. You feel his long finger caressing every inner curves with flexibility. He was always so good at fingering you and loved to flex his talents by having you cum with his fingers alone. He prided himself in making you come undone with a single finger! 

But doubled up with his mouth…? 

This is so much more intense and pleasurable!  

By sheer despair your hands come entangle themself in his luscious blue-black mane, combing your fingers in his locks and holding him against the heart of all your desires. Your legs shake so much you’re affraid to hit him with your trembling heels. He throw your legs over his shoulders and you cross them, keeping him prisoner between your luscious tighs. He sucks and licks like a machine, unstoppable and tireless while you spend more and more energy trying to keep it quiet, a scream of pleasure rising and growing in your throat, threatening to pass your lips at any second if your not careful. 

Thats when he pushes a second finger inside your gaping pussy, curling them against your gummy spot. 

You cannot hold it back and scream. You immediately bite hard into one your finger to silence yourself. 

And he doesn’t tolerate it, he bites hard in your inner tighs with a pissed growl. The pain forces your mouth open, releasing your finger. 

“Scream, Human. I do not give you the right to remain silent.” He orders curtly. 

“But we will be heard, we-” 

“They are all at the ball at the Hotel Particulier. We are alone, there is only us.” 

You gasp, trying to catch your breath from the drowning pleasure you are feeling. 

“What about the domestics?”  

“They are contractually mute and deaf. Do not bother yourself with them and focus on our pleasure!” 

‘Our pleasure’... 

It makes your heart pumps harder. Makes you feel light... 

To prove his point he scisors you, hooking your little pussy with his long fingers efficiently as he torture your puffy clit, forcing all of those obscene pleas like an obsessive littany. Your fluffy inner fleshes puff up, gorging themself with warm blood to prepare for the upcoming, roaring orgasm you feel just over the curb, right there, you could almost touch it... 

And then 

It snaps. 

Fire flow through your veins and your pussy clench hard around Thurfian’s fingers, retaining  them deep inside, contracting as waves of pleasure travel your entire body, immobilizing you in a deliciosuly torturing embrace... 

Your little pussy tightens so much so suddenly you squirt into Thurfian’s mouth and your toes curl, your eyes roll inside your head as you scream again the Patriarch’s core name for all to hear. Your entire body tenses up like you were electrocuted and suddenly relaxes with a ‘oof’ on the large comfortable bed. 

You can only hear your own heartbeat resonating in your ears and Thrufian’s satisfied purr as he lick the remnant of your essence off your sweet cunt, drinking your pleasure raw and pure like ambrosia. 

You pant, feeling your sweat rolling on your naked skin as Thurfian stands up, licking his fingers ostensibly, sucking them clean obscenenly as a power move as your slick still beads off his perfect jaw. 

“You taste sweet.” He compliments, “Quite savory. You make for a very tasty dinner, Vutucni.” 

His eyes shine so much you cannot see any pupils anymore, lighting up the bedroom of a dangerous red shade. 

But you feel at ease. 

You like to bath in all this red, surrounded by darkness and warmth. It feels so right. 

He leans forward to capture your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He invades your mouth, caressing your tongue as he holds the back of your head to keep you in place without any chance of escaping. 

He purrs so loudly, so unashamedly you want to purr with him. 

“It was a really good performance, Vutucni. I want you to do it again with my cock this time.” He licks your jaw and bites your ear. 

“Then give it to me.” You lick his blood off his cut cheek. 

He raises on his knees to lower his boxers, freeing his erection. It stands proudly erect, girthy and long with delicious ridges, you take it in your hand and start pumping him, playing with the crown of his cock, pulling on the skin to reveal the head that leaks pre-cum. 

You’re about to take it in your mouth when Thurfian seizes your throat to gently push you down the matress with his eyes silently ordering you to remain still.  

You pout, making him chuckle in return. 

He places himself correctly between your open legs and starts brushing his long member against your soaked folds, he coats it well and good with a back and forth movements and spreading his pre-cum all along his lenght with one hand. He pokes and nudges your tight entrance with his tip to tease you, amusing himself at how pissed off you get as he doesn’t enter you right away. 

His expression loose its light to become grave and serious all of the sudden, burying his gaze in yours. 

“(Y/n), there is something you must be aware of beforehand.” He starts gravely. 

You slowly nods, unsure of what he is about to unleash on you and slightly affraid by the sudden change of tone. 

“This child... Could not get accepted by the rest of the Chiss. It is very clear to me that they would never accept them as my heir.” 

“Can’t you... force them? You are Patriarch after all...” 

“They will receive the privileges of the blood Mitth, but I am affraid their life will be... lonely and mostly without ties.” 

“Are you affraid they will look too human?” 

“They won’t. Chiss genes prevail.” He immediately hardens his tone. 

You open your eyes slightly at that aggression and he relaxes seeing your expression, his hand coming to caress your cheek delicately. 

“They will look Chiss, they will just... feel it on them, that they are not pure Chiss. And I worry it will weigh on them.” 

You are alone since day one in this Society and you managed but Thurfian could give them what you never could. 

“As long as they have the power of the blood, I can teach them to live in this unforgivable environment.” 

“How?” He asks softly. 

You scoff. 

“I do it daily! I know how you operate and I’ll prepare them to take down any challenge!” You greet your teeth. 

‘And take down any of you!’ you add in your mind. 

His thumb gently caress your cheek, like he is lost in his thoughts. 

“You speak so harshly of us.” 

“You are not exactly welcoming with outsiders.” 

“You have me now.”  

You tuts. 

“Will you be here for them as well?” 

“Everyday.” He gently assures, “They are my child as much as yours.” He leans forward to kiss you again and lets his forehead resting against yours, “I worry the same for you. They will give you respect but close their hearts to you.” 

“As long as they bow to me I will be magnanimous.” You half jokingly lets out. 

“I will also probably need to father another child.” He keeps going, “A pure Chiss, for my lineage.” 

He lets the information sink, and with it your heart.  

He will not remain with you? 

“A half-blood could never be an heir of one of the nine...” 

“Yes I understood the first time!” You spit, annoyed. 

“I cannot be exclusive with you.” He insists. 

“I know.” You sulk in your pain, “I figured as much...” 

He brushes your foreheads together. 

“I am sorry, (Y/n). You may have been the only one who were ready to stay with me no matter what.” 

You bury your heart. 

You would have followed Thurfian to the other side of the universe if he just asked, you would have done unforgivable things to remain with him... 

But such are the Chiss. 

Heartless and practical. 

“I just hope you’ll find the right woman quickly.” You hide your pain behind and encouraging smile you shine to him. 

He inhales, still caressing your cheek. 

“Do you still want this?” He offers you an escape door. 

But you circle his neck with your arms and his waist with your legs. 

“Give me your baby.” You bury your nose in the crook of his neck. 

You cannot have his undivided attention and love, but you can still give him a family... His own little family. 

He embraces your shoulders tight and you feel him slowly invading your pussy. Your mouth open in a perfect ‘o’ at the sensation to finally be full. He pushes his cock inside easily to not hurt you. 

But he hurted you deeper he ever could already. 

You hiss at his size. He is well endowed and always a little tricky to fit, but your first, fantastic orgasm helps a lot and he finally sit fully inside. He remains still for your comfort, letting your pussy time to adjust, patiently. When he feels your muscles relaxing all around him like a fluffy pillow he gives you one shallow thrust, testing your reactions. It slips easily and without hurting. Without you asking him to stop he takes it as a ‘go’ and starts a back and forth movement, leaving just the tip inside and pushing it back his whole lenght inside. 

He makes gentle love to you, with deep and languid thrusts, kissing the crook of your neck and nibbling your ear. Your pussy welcomes him fully, eagerly inviting him inside, his numerous ridges grazing and teasing all your deep hidden spots so easily... 

You gasp and mewl, a comforting pool of heat getting born in your bundle of nerves and small shockwaves of pleasures spreads through your veins. Thurfian hiss and grunts as your cunt squeezes his cock, absolutely torturing him, tearing him apart. 

You feel his eagerness to speed up the pace but he keeps it slow and languorous as he licks your shoulder to your jaw before kissing to corner of your parted lips. 

“You are strangling me, (Y/n).” He groans, “You’re forcing me on my knees...” 

Serves him right! 

He pushes it back in terribly slowly, a creamy ‘o’ starting to form at his base. You gasp as his dick brushes your spots without breaking a sweat. His purr resumes, resonating in the large bedroom and with your heart as he hugs you close against his own. He suddenly grazes a spot that makes you shudder in bliss and clench your pussy around his cock. 

“Ch'etecerci!” He curses, “Stop doing that!” He rasps, sweaty and trembling. 

You gorge yourself with pride, he is not insensible to the pleasure you give him! You can reach him too and touch him. 

He isn’t closed to you. 

To toy with him you contract your inner muscles several times and he throws his head backward in pure bliss. 

“(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n)...” He chants breathily, pecking your face all over, “You are torturing me so deliciously, you temptress.” 

You whine as he slowy starts to increase the pace of his hips. The entire room reeks of sweat and sex and your only source of light is his carmine eyes, burning everything it remotly touch such as your shuddering body. His hips meets yours sloppily but lovingly, tenderly, gently... 

You gasp as he sough sweet nothing in your ear, kissing it foundly as he presses his cheek to yours, his entire perfect body weighting on yours, wrapping you in a sweet warmth that you never felt in any other lover’s embrace. The rythm is slow but fill with love and passion, just expressed differently than what he is used too. 

He always liked it rough and harsh, far away from tenderness and gentleness. He kept this side of him locked and hidden. 

He could never show another side but conquering and dominant to the alien as the Patriarch and more importantly as a Chiss. Their fierceness must be displayed at any moment, especially to outsiders, never showing any weakness or soft sides. 

So, 

For him to allow you to see that part of him... That vulnerable part... 

It is probably a one time thing and you should enjoy it for the little time you have, he would probably close himself back to you after, even if he promised to take more care of you. 

His attention is earned but never his affection. 

You embrace him tighter to emprison him, letting your pussy adjusting to his size to let him pass, your inner secret place all puffy with blood and fluffy like a pillow for his cock, like a velvety sheath made for him.  

He rolls his hips rythmically with your breathes, letting you guide him for the pace and making sweet love to you like he never did before. You turn your head to kiss his cheek with a mimic of their deep purring sounds. A poor imitation from your human vocal cords but you hear a very faint chuckle and his own purr gains in intensity. It’s like music to your ears with his groans and pants. 

His hands leave your shoulders to grip your hips and ass to position you in a better angle, allowing him to go even deeper wich seems almost impossible. 

But he does, brushing your cervix with his leaking tip. 

This new sensations sends fire to your nerve endings and you tremble dramatically in his arms, a tsunami of pleasure ready to crash upon you. 

“Oh Maker...” You breathe, the warm waves rising in your veins almost comfortingly, “Keep going, please!”  

He lay his forehead on yours, looking into your human eyes and you suddenly feel incredibly shy to be seen and perceived in such intimate moment you close your eyes to protect your sanity.  

“Look at me please.” He calls majestically, “Look into my eyes when you cum.” 

You squirm and shake your head, your eyes shut close. He takes your chin between two fingers and tilt your head towards his face. 

“(Y/n), look into my gaze.” He orders, “As a Mitth you must always obey your Patriarch.” 

His other hand leaves your hip to take yours and entertwine your fingers together. You whine but open your eyes tentatively, looking up to the Chiss looming over your naked, exposed form. 

You immediately drown in an ocean of red, hypnotized, witnessing the Universe expending in his carmine jewels burning so bright with excitement and lust you are almost blinded by such light. 

And you immediately cum. 

Your pussy clenches and squeezes around his girthy shaft, trying desesperatly to retain him deep inside. You close back your eyes in shock, hyperspaces draw in white light behind your eyelids. Thurfian cock is compressed and massaged by your inner muscles, getting pulled deeper in voluptuous sensations, dragging him further in red-hot pleasure and he comes inside you, painting your little pussy in white as he spurts his semen deep inside your womb. 

You feel his shaft twitches and didders almost painfully, forcing a deep guttural growl off his throat, and your pussy milks him dry, pumping everything greedily inside your warmth. 

He didn’t let go of your hand. 

You remain silent, gasping for air, Thurfian laying on your body, both sweaty and burning hot. You dive your head in the crook of his solid neck to inhale his natural musk enhanced by your efforts. 

It is manly, with strong notes of pine and sex and... comforting, like a scent you smelled in your childhood. 

You can also feel your two beating hearts pumping quickly from the physical efforts through your respective chests, you slide a hand between your two bodies to place it on his large peck to feel the vibrations through your palm. You cannot help a little chuckle when you feel his heart jumping at the soft contact of your hand. 

He gently kisses your shoulder with the ghost of his lips, leaving pecks as light as butterflies wings. As you go down from your daze he gently slips off of you to straigthens his back, well grounded on his knees on the matress. He rises his head high and dramatically slick his hair back, looking down at you regally. 

“Turn around and raise your hips.” He orders. 

His shaft is still well erected, standing tall and proud, making you slightly anxious of what is to come... 

You groan, tired and sore but you roll on your stomach with a sigh and raise your hips in the air, to soothe yourself you take one of the pillow and put it under your head to hug it and dig your nails in the fabric. 

Thurfian large palms caress the plump or your ass before gripping your hips and harshly bring them closer to him. 

You feel two of his fingers trailing your slit up and down, coated with his sperm and your essence that you feel rolling along your thighs.  

And he noticed too. 

He flicks your pussy making you start at the sharp pain disolving in numbing pleasure. 

“You are already wasting my semen, woman. How am I supposed to get things done around here?” 

 “I am sorry your Venerante.” You swing your hips to taunt him, “I am a bad girl!” 

And you both burst out in a light chuckle. 

You could never say such things seriously! 

Thurfian clears his throat to stop while yours finish in a deep, long sigh, pleased to have relaxed the atmosphere a bit. 

“Keep steady, Vutucni.” 

And that’s your only warning before he pushes back his cock inside your gaping pussy. All air is chased or your lungs at the sudden fullness, feeling stuffed to the brim by his glorious member. He takes two shallow thrusts, testing your wetness and flexibilty and starts to fuck you like he loves to. 

You’re forced to open your legs wide to stabilize yourself on the soft, fluffy matress to not get pushed over, and you dig your nails in your pillow, menacing to tear apart its fabric. You focus on your breathing as he rams his lenght inside without an once of mercy for your exhausted, more fragile human body. 

You have no Chiss stamina nor resistance. You are far more limited as a human, wich was tricky at first when they gave you a standardized agenda for Chiss. Numerous time you tought you would pass out of exhaustion for Thurfian to keep fucking you while you’re unconscious. 

He would not stop for so little. 

You hiss as he bullies himself deep inside, hitting your cervix with ease. 

 It is more painful than pleasant and each hit gets more painful than the former. 

He seems to take it into account as he slightly tilts his pelvis to change the angle, making it more comfortable for you, easing your pain to a more voluptuous and warm sensation. He slightly slow down his rut to test this new angle before resuming his merciless pace, hitting all your spots even better and making you see stars. You feel yourself drooling on your jaw as the pool of heat in your stomach grows more and more at each of his profound thrusts, like ebullient lava ready to spill and burns anything it touches. 

Thurfian lets out a deep sighs as he keeps fucking you hard and good, holding your hips firmly for you not too fall or escape.  

“(Y/n)... (Y/n)...” He chants in his melodious accent, “You let me discover my true desires.” He accentuates each words with a good hips movement, making you whimper each times as you threaten to fall off the bed, “You let me breed you, my little human. To do as I please, to fuck as I want...” 

In this frenetic frenzy you feel his hand snaking it’s way under you to play with your puffy clit. 

You jolt with a breathy moan, making your pussy clenches around him. 

“Ravri'ihah!” He curses with a deep voice, “What did I told you about that?” 

But he keeps playing with your pulsating pearls expertly, making you whimper louder and louder and your legs tremble so much you feel they are going to give way under you. 

You bite into the pillow to silence yourself, earning an instantaneous slap on your butt. 

“I ordered you to not silence yourself, I recall!” His regal voice rising imperiously over you, “I am going to make you scream for your transgression.” He sentences. 

And he increases his movement, installing a brutal pace, fucking you like an animal. This time he truly is bestial, bullying himself meanly into your poor pussy. 

Your poor body isn’t meant to bare such intensity. This time you feel like you’re really going to pass out! Air is pushed out of your lungs with hard shockwaves each time you try to open your mouth. 

“Wait... Thu-Thurfian, please... Slow down, I-” 

“Oh you want me to slow down now? You want my mercy? I generously warned you but you kept disobeying your Patriarch. You thought I would not stick to my words and leave you unpunished?” He taunts, a sadistic notes in his pleased tone. 

He sure is enjoying himself. 

“I will have you learn who I truly am, (Y/n)’(F/n). You will learn to obey your Patriarch by the end of this night.” 

He slaps your ass again and resume his torture on your clit, making you clench harder and harder. 

He knows all your sweet spots, he learned them by heart by know. If he wants you screaming in debilitating pleasure, he will have you screaming! 

“Now learn your lesson, woman.” 

He twists your clit between his fingers as he hungrily fucks you like he never did before. 

Soon enough you cannot refrain any of the inadvertent cries that escape you under such terrible assaults, they get louder and louder as you dig your nails in the matress, trying really hard to not silence yourself again to not aggravate the situation, but also trying to keep them in check to not outright scream for everyone to hear again. 

Thurfian laughs contented at your pitiful efforts.  

“I was being nice to you until now.” He flicks your clit to have you trying to squirm away, only to impale you back on his cock, “And I will breed you. You will give me a child, several even. You will remain with me, not to see any other lovers. You will be mine, and mine only!” 

To prove his point he fucks like a jackhammer, forcing your sore pussy to take him whole, strecthing it at it’s maximum, ruthlessly torturing your nervous and thin skinned body. 

It should be painful with how violent and heavy it is, but each push just makes you cream more and more around his girthy shaft. 

This time your legs do give out, but Thurfian holds you firmly with his strong arms. 

“Tired already?” He mocks “You human are such fragile creatures it is comical. How do you intend to carry a Chiss baby, I wonder?” 

You greet your teeth. 

“Fucking try me!” You manage to spit between two gasped moans. 

“Still snappy I see. If you have the energy to talk back you have the energy to scream. So please, Vutucni, humor me!” 

And he leans forward, his bust agaisnt you back, deepening his thrusts, and bites down your shoulder with his long incisors. 

You shout, the pain melting in a numbing bliss rapidly as he licks the blood rolling off your shoulder. His purr gets deeper and seems to roll on both of your skin as ocean’s tides. 

He forces your body to lay down, following you down and ruts inside you, toying with your little pearl, worsening the clasp of your cunt on his member wich he actually seems to enjoy a lot! 

Having his cock strangled by your little creaming sex his such a delight! Such a high! 

He growls satisfied as you babble incoherently under his languorous offensive, your hips meeting with wet obsessive sounds, flesh hitting flesh obscenely, perversely. 

“Oh Maker please slow down!” You breath, “You-Your Venerante! I am sorry!” 

“Keep begging, cheo Vutucni. It suits your cute voice so well...” He teases.  

He doesn’t slow down for even a second, his throbbing cock invading your intimacy, forcing it’s way in as your poor cunny cannot do another thing but to take it.  

‘’You are so tight, Vutucni. Tighter than any Chiss cunt. You were made for me to fuck you. You were created to serve your Patriarch and bear his children.’’ 

You whimper at his words, melting on the spot as your toes curl. 

‘’You want this ? You want my babies ? Do you, human ?’’ 

‘’I-ah !... Yes your Venerante.’’ You gasp, trying desperatly to focus but his ministrations on your clit and his rut just scramble your mind. 

You are drooling all over yourself and the pillow is soaked. 

‘’What a good little human, eager to please and be breed.’’ He kisses your cheek almost tenderly, ‘’Give it to me Cheo  Vutucni. Give me all of your pleasure.’’ 

And he punctuates his words with his finals hard thrusts making you scream and squirt on his cock. A long high pitched scream of his name that surely made the manor tremble. 

Your body tenses up, blood transformed in pure fire, your sweet cunny convulsing desperatly. Your eyes close shut with bright fireworks as your inner muscles undulate around Thurfian’s cock finishing to unload deep inside of you again. You feel him twitch as the last ribbon of creamy seed paints your vagina white. 

He keeps circling your clit fondly as you go down your high, prolonging your orgasm and rolling your pleasure.  

He starts kissing your shoulder gently, licking your sweat off your body.  

You huff, in desperate need of a glass of water but Thurfian doesn’t seems disposed to move off you, laying on your body like a lascivious king.  

His purr resonates loudly between the four walls of his bedroom. 

You weakly try to raise your head off the pillow and he takes the opportunity to kiss your cheek once again. 

‘’Are you alright Vutucni ?’’ 

You weakly nod, feeling shadows circling you. 

He nuzzles his nose against your cheek with a loopsided grin.  

‘’It was fantastic.’’ He praises, ‘’Did you like it ?’’ 

‘’Yes …’’ You sob, laying your head back on the pillow. 

‘’Vutucni ?’’ 

And the darkness takes you… 

You yawn and open your eyes… To discover you are not in your room but Thurfian’s ? 

You start back at that realization, only to hit a body behind your back. You turn your head to discover Thurfian sleeping soundly, hugging your naked body, embracing it tight with his long arms around your tummy. 

You look around to see both of your clothing tidied up and a glass of water waiting for you on your bedside table. 

You turn in his arms, observing his relaxed features. He looks so different from his usual self, more moving and at ease. 

He didn’t throw you out. He kept you in his bed with him for the first time… Letting you see that secret aprt of him. 

You simply cannot help yourself but tracing his features with your fingers delicately, the softness of his forehead ridges, the point and curve of his nose, the delicateness of his  eyelashes and the sharpness of his cheekbone, the hollow of his cheek, the perfection of his jaw and the plump of his lips. 

‘’Are you having fun ?’’ He sighs. 

You squeele in surprise as he slowly opens his eyes to meet yours. 

‘’Good morning your Venerante.’’ You greet, disapointed to have been busted. 

He grips your hand before you can take it away to kiss your palm and leans in to take your cheek to kiss your lips. Sweet kisses for a sweet morning. 

Thats when you realize the sun pouring in the bedroom. 

‘’Fuck! What time is it!?’’ You shout, jumping on a seating position, parting from his kiss,‘’ I have a shift this morning!’’ 

You go to leave the bed but Thurfian grasps your arm and pulls you back in his embrace. 

‘’Thurfian ! We both have work, you more than me!’’ You try to reason him. 

‘’And we will get to it.’’ He holds you down, ‘’But for now let’s enjoy. It’s been so long since I had a day off…’’ 

You try to wriggle your way out but he snarls and rolls on top of you, capturing your lips in a ravaging kiss, holding your wrists above your head in one hand. 

‘’Do I need to fuck you into unconsciousness again ?’’ He taunts, his long hair framing his gorgeous face. 

You just shake your head silently with pursed lips. 

‘’Good. Remain.’’ 

‘’I have work to do.’’ You insist. 

‘’Your workday is adjourned. Today your Patriarch demands your undivided attention.’’And he leans to kiss you again, brushing his hot loins agaisnt yours. 

@bluechiss @thrawnalani @justanothersadperson93 @al-astakbar @thrawnspetgoose @readinglistfics @elise2174 @debonaire-princess @twilekchiss @pencil-urchin @ineedazeezee @mssbridgerton @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @Cortisolcosplay, @obbicrystaleo, @germie2037

#thurfian #thurfian x reader #mitth'urf'ianico #thrawn ascendancy #thrawn #thrawn smut #fanfic #vibratingskull

[zvaigzdelasas]

The junta have explicitly justified their coup as a response to the “continuous deterioration of the security situation” plaguing Niger and complained that it and other countries in the Sahel “have been dealing for over 10 years with the negative socioeconomic, security, political and humanitarian consequences of NATO’s hazardous adventure in Libya.” Even ordinary Nigeriens backing the junta have done the same.[...]

Only years [after enacting regime change] would a UK House of Commons Foreign Affairs Committee report publicly determine, echoing the conclusions of other post-mortems, that charges of an impending civilian massacre were “not supported by the available evidence” and that “the threat to civilians was overstated and that the rebels included a significant Islamist element” that carried out numerous atrocities of its own.

Sens. John McCain (R-Ariz.), Joe Lieberman (I-Conn.), and John Kerry (D-Mass.) all called for a no-fly zone. “I love the military ... but they always seem to find reasons why you can’t do something rather than why you can,” complained McCain. The American Enterprise Institute’s Danielle Pletka said it would be “an important humanitarian step.” The now-defunct Foreign Policy Initiative (FPI) think tank gathered a who’s who of neoconservatives to repeatedly urge the same. In a letter to then-President Barack Obama, they quoted back Obama’s Nobel Peace Prize speech in which he argued that “inaction tears at our conscience and can lead to more costly intervention later.”

Then-Secretary of State Hillary Clinton, reportedly instrumental in persuading Obama to act, was herself swayed by similar arguments. Friend and unofficial adviser Sidney Blumenthal assured her that, once Gaddafi fell, “limited but targeted military support from the West combined with an identifiable rebellion” could become a new model for toppling Middle Eastern dictators. Pointing to the similar, deteriorating situation in Syria, Blumenthal claimed that “the most important event that could alter the Syrian equation would be the fall of Gaddafi, providing an example of a successful rebellion.”[...]

Despite grave and often-stated reservations, Obama and NATO got UN authorization for a no-fly zone. Clinton was privately showered with email congratulations, not just from Blumenthal and Slaughter (“bravo!”; “No-fly! Brava! You did it!”), but even from then-Bloomberg View Executive Editor James Rubin (“your efforts ... will be long remembered”). Pro-war voices like Pletka and Iraq War architect Paul Wolfowitz immediately began moving the goalposts by discussing Gaddafi’s ouster, suggesting escalation to prevent a U.S. “defeat,” and criticizing those saying Libya wasn’t a vital U.S. interest. NATO’s undefined war aims quickly shifted, and officials spoke out of both sides of their mouths. Some insisted the goal wasn’t regime change, while others said Gaddafi “needs to go.” It took less than three weeks for FPI Executive Director Jamie Fly, the organizer of the neocons’ letter to Obama, to go from insisting it would be a “limited intervention” that wouldn’t involve regime change, to professing “I don’t see how we can get ourselves out of this without Gaddafi going.”

After only a month, Obama and NATO allies publicly pronounced they would stay the course until Gaddafi was gone, rejecting the negotiated exit put forward by the African Union. “There is no mission creep,” NATO Secretary General Anders Fogh Rasmussen insisted two months later. Four months after that, Gaddafi was dead — captured, tortured and killed thanks in large part to a NATO airstrike on the convoy he was traveling in.

The episode was considered a triumph. “We came, we saw, he died,” Clinton joked to a reporter upon hearing the news. Analysts talked about the credit owed to Obama for the “success.” [...] [In October 2011], Clinton traveled to Tripoli and declared “Libya’s victory” as she flashed a peace sign.

“It was the right thing to do,” Obama told the UN, presenting the operation as a model that the United States was “proud to play a decisive role” in. Soon discussion moved to exporting this model elsewhere, like Syria. Hailing the UN for having “at last lived up to its duty to prevent mass atrocities,” then-Human Rights Watch Executive Director Kenneth Roth called to “extend the human rights principles embraced for Libya to other people in need,” citing other parts of the Middle East, the Ivory Coast, Myanmar and Sri Lanka.[...]

Gaddafi’s toppling not only led hundreds of Tuareg mercenaries under his employ to return to nearby Mali but also caused an exodus of weapons from the country, leading Tuareg separatists to team up with jihadist groups and launch an armed rebellion in the country. Soon, that violence triggered its own coup and a separate French military intervention in Mali, which quickly became a sprawling Sahel-wide mission that only ended nine years later with the situation, by some accounts, worse than it started. According to the UN High Commissioner for Refugees, the majority of the more than 400,000 refugees in the Central Sahel were there because of the violence in Mali.

Mali was far from alone. Thanks to its plentiful and unsecured weapons depots, Libya became what UK intelligence labeled the “Tesco” of illegal arms trafficking, referring to the British supermarket chain. Gaddafi’s ouster “opened the floodgates for widespread extremist mayhem” across the Sahel region, retired Senior Foreign Service officer Mark Wentling wrote in 2020, with Libyan arms traced to criminals and terrorists in Niger, Tunisia, Syria, Algeria and Gaza, including not just firearms but also heavy weaponry like antiaircraft guns and surface-to-air missiles. By last year, extremism and violence was rife throughout the region, thousands of civilians had been killed and 2.5 million people had been displaced.

Things are scarcely better in “liberated” Libya today. The resulting power vacuum produced exactly what Iraq War critics predicted: a protracted (and forever close-to-reigniting) civil war involving rival governments, neighboring states using them as proxies, hundreds of militias and violent jihadists. Those included the Islamic State, one of several extremist groups that made real Clinton’s pre-intervention fear of Libya “becoming a giant Somalia.” By the 2020 ceasefire, hundreds of civilians had been killed in Libya, nearly 900,000 needed humanitarian assistance, half of them women and children, and the country had become a lucrative hotspot for slave trading. Today, Libyans are unambiguously worse off than before NATO intervention. Ranked 53rd in the world and first in Africa by the 2010 UN Human Development Index, the country had dropped fifty places by 2019. Everything from GDP per capita and the number of fully functioning health care facilities to access to clean water and electricity sharply declined. Far from improving U.S. standing in the Middle East, most of the Arab world opposed the NATO operation by early 2012.

8 Sep 23