Anna // She/Her // 21 // Writer ||| Current Fandoms: Dune, One Piece (up to episode 522) ||| I have a Wattpad account where I post all of my fanfiction under @FeirceAngel. |||
Okay so you’ve written protective/possessive Feyd—what about protective Paul seeing his wife badly hurt or narrowly escaping an attack? I live for the “who did this to you” trope, got me weak at the knees 🥹
I sorta missed the whole wife part, whoops! But I hope you still like it!!
Imagine | Beloved (Paul Atreides)
Word Count: 1,820
Warnings: reader is harassed, I invented an OC to be the antagonist, protective! Paul, hurt/comfort
The halls of Castle Caladan are cold tonight.
Goosebumps are already forming on your arms as you walk through the dark.
Perhaps going for a late night stroll wasn't the best idea, but you just couldn't sleep tonight.
So you stroll instead, peering out of the windows to observe the rain clouds forming.
Castle Caladan has been your home for ages, even though you are not an Atreides. You've lived alongside House Caladan, having come from one of the lesser houses in an attempt to give you a better standing in society.
You're not angry about it.
In fact, you're grateful to live on this oceanic planet. And, you're happy to be alongside your best friend, Paul Atreides.
There weren't any others your age in Castle Caladan, so naturally you sought each other out early on.
Being friends came easily.
Paul has always been sweet, adventurous, friendly - and you are much the same.
Of course, you both had different teachings and priorities, but you always found each other whenever possible.
There was no greater joy than racing through the castle and playing near the waves alongside the boy with dark hair.
And now you're both older.
Life has intruded upon those times of peaceful play and brought forth more schoolings and politics that the young aren't susceptible to.
Although he has a higher standing in society, Paul always manages to remember you, make time for you. He vowed to never abandon you.
And you believe him.
But the subtle glares that Lady Jessica sends your way are not easy to ignore, nor are the signs that others in the castle are uncomfortable with the situation.
You try not to dwell on those things. Because the only thing that matters is being there for Paul. He deserves to have a friend that isn't a mentor or a parental figure.
As you walk though the sleeping palace, your find your mind troubled. Maybe that's why you can't sleep tonight.
Footsteps silent on the stone floor, you arrive before Paul's chambers. You hadn't realized you were walking here. Unconsciously, you sought him out in your time of uncertainty.
Resting your palm on the door, you close your eyes and sigh. You wouldn't disturb him at this hour- you know how bad it would look.
Before you can continue on your way, a voice calls out from the shadows.
"What are you doing here at this hour?"
It's a male's voice, one that you wish was unfamiliar.
"I didn't realize I couldn't roam as I please, Aric," you reply comply to the guard who walks closer.
His grin is wolffish, "I didn't realize you were stupid enough to come to him after dark."
"I was not going to disturb him."
"Oh no, I imagine he'd be excited to see you at this late hour."
"I don't like what you're insinuating," you start to walk away, hearing him continue after you.
He is right beside you, “I meant no insult, I assure you.”
“Your assurances are as empty as your head,” you retort, not even giving him a glance.
You’ve never liked Aric, so you see no reason to be civil with him. He’s always been an ass to you, finding any reason to make your life a bit more miserable.
“That was uncalled for,” he growls, grabbing your arm to stop you from walking away.
You fix him with an unimpressed stare.
“What do you want, Aric? It seems like you’re always following me,” you say calmly as he releases you.
He regains his composure, “I want you.”
You blink at him.
“I’m serious, I want you to stop fawning over Paul and turn to me instead,” his whisper is harsh and grating to your ears. “Be my wife. You’re of age now and I know you have no other offers.”
You can’t help but scoff. Stepping back from him, you cross your arms, “I do not fawn over Paul, and I am certainly not fond of you. I will do is both a favour and pretend you never asked.”
Rage lights up his features, his hand forming a fist at his side.
“I could give you everything you could ask for.”
“And you would take everything from me in the meantime. I know you, Aric. You are not kind,” you hiss, stepping back while he steps forward.
“Kindness gets you nowhere in this life.”
You shake your head, “Your actions in this life determine the outcome. And so far your actions are untoward. Cornering me at this time of night?”
“Paul will never marry you, you know,” he changes tactics.
You roll your eyes, “Admit defeat, Aric. I will never be yours.”
Suddenly, he is right in your face, sneering down at you, “I can take what I want. Like you said, it’s late, no one is here.”
“I will not let you.”
He laughs, grabbing your arm in a bruising grip once again. He wrenches you forward but you twist out of his grip and shove him into the wall.
He groans and recovers quickly, shoving you violently. You hit a corner and collapse on the ground, your arm dripping crimson.
Infuriated, you stand and glare at the smug bastard.
“Leave now,” you command him, using the Voice. You’re not a master at it, by any means, but you’re trained enough to get this brute to back down.
He leaves without a word, and you realize that you should have done that right away.
You grasp your arm and walk back to your chambers. Luckily, the wound isn’t deep and you’re finally able to sleep.
~~~
The next day commences as normal.
That is, until Paul appears next to you as you walk down the beach.
“I was looking for you,” he grins as he approaches.
His smile could brighten the darkest corner of space. His eyes are piercing and perceptive, you fear you could drown in their depths.
You smile back at him, “You found me.”
“I haven’t seen you in a few days, has everything been alright?”
That’s Paul, always so considerate of you and your wellbeing. The reminder of his care brings a softer smile to your face.
“I’m fine, just been tired lately.”
“Why?”
“Sleep’s been evading me,” you chuckle, bending to pick up a stone near your feet. “I’ll catch it eventually.”
A sudden tension fills the air, bringing you upright immediately. You look at Paul and see his gaze fixed on your bandaged arm.
“What happened?” He asks, concern dripping from his words like rain.
You move your arm from his direct view, “Nothing, it was an accident.”
His eyes flicker up to yours.
“You’re lying.”
You curse his Bene Gesserit training which makes it so easy for him to read you.
“I told you it’s nothing.”
“If it was nothing, you would’ve already launched into how it happened,” he points out. “Like that time you scraped your knee when you tripped down the stairs.”
You groan at the reminder, “You said you wouldn’t bring that up again!”
“Tell me what happened,” he reaches out to gently take your arm in his hands.
He examines the clean bandage before beginning to unwrap it. You shake your head but his eyes are pleading.
“Please.”
You sigh, unable to resist. He doesn’t even need to use the Voice on you, he controls you with his words, his eyes, his hands. You would give him everything if he simply asked for it.
He’d do the same for you.
“It was Aric,” you say, as Paul stares at the small cut on your bruised arm. “He got angry that I would never marry him in a million years.”
Paul’s expression goes dark, any mirth he might have had leaving him in an instant.
“Aric asked you to wed him?”
You nod.
“Then he did this?”
“Pushed me into the wall,” you confess. “I had ti use the Voice to get him to leave.”
You watch as Paul tenderly presses his lips to your arm, the contact warm and sweet.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
“You can’t be with me all the time, silly.”
He shakes his dark hair, “I promise, he won’t do this to you ever again.”
“How-“
Paul turns in a flurry, stalking back towards the castle. You race after him, suddenly unsure.
You knew you shouldn’t have told him what happened. This isn’t the Paul you know, this is someone else.
“Paul!” You shout as you run after him.
He’s too fast, storming to where Aric stands in the hall. Before Aric even notices his presence, Paul has punched him clear across the face.
Stunned, Aric stumbles back with a curse.
Paul doesn’t give him time to recover, kneeing him in the stomach so that he bends over in pain. You watch as Paul kicks him down to the ground, standing over him with a furious expression.
“I heard what you did last night, Aric.”
Aric groans in response.
Paul continues, “I know you tried to harm my beloved, tried to belittle her. Did you think you wouldn’t be punished?”
“Paul, I think he’s learnt his lesson,” you try to calm him.
“No, no he hasn’t.”
Paul watches as Aric rises to his feet, mouth bloodied.
“I should’ve known that whore would snitch.”
You wince, not at the intended insult, but at the fury blazing in Paul’s eyes. This isn’t going to end well.
“Stop talking,” Paul uses the Voice, before punching him once again.
“Get on your knees.”
You watch as Aric drops to the floor.
“Beg for her forgiveness and I’ll let you walk away,” Paul says casually. “If you don’t, I think you know what’ll happen.”
Watching with a flicker of amusement, you incline your head, “Go on.”
Aric grits his teeth, “I’m sorry.”
“That wasn’t good enough,” Paul seethes, “Do it better!”
Aric slams his head on the floor, “Please, please, don’t let him kill me. I won’t ever speak to you again!”
“I know you won’t,” you nod at Paul. “I think all is well now.”
“Get up Aric,” Paul commands. “I don’t want to see your face again, you hear me?”
Aric nods and retreats with a burning face.
You turn to Paul, crossing your arms, “Beloved, huh?”
He rubs the back of his neck, averting his gaze, “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Paul, hearing you call me that fills my heart to the brim. Your my beloved as well, you know.”
Paul bridges the space between you, clasping the back of your head and pressing his forehead against yours.
“I don’t think I could ever be without you. Even the thought of someone trying to take you from me, turn you against me…”
“Don’t worry, Paul,” you ghost your lips across his. “That will never happen, not as long as I have breath in my lungs.”
He wraps his arms around you, “I’ll cherish you always, protect you always.”
“I know.”
[A/n - It’s my first time writing Paul so I hope I did ok!]
This is probably a really stupid ask, but what exactly is an omega? 🥹
I think you’re asking the wrong person, ‘cause as far as I’m aware, I haven’t written anything with an alpha/omega dynamic or anything where an omega has even been mentioned.
Asks are open you say? Well how about a dynamic flip? Feyd is the proud warrior but is unexpectedly bartered away in a deal his brother makes to humiliate him. Surprised and furious he fully intends to conquer his new "brides" family and kingdom only for them to recognize his strength and be met with the satisfying challenge of warrior/ farming planet.
So, I kinda went in a different direction with this, but I hope you still enjoy it, Anon!!
Imagine | A Match (Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen)
Imagine Feyd is given in marriage to a wealthy House in order to gain an alliance. His new bride is not what he expected.
"What?" Feyd's voice is barely concealing his rage as he stares down his uncle and smug brother.
"It was necessary, my darling," the Baron's voice is rough, his tone placating. "We need this alliance more than you know."
Feyd finds his teeth clenching, hands forming fists at his sides. "Why not Rabban?"
"You know why," the Baron glares. "They would not accept Rabban as a suitable match. You are to go and wed their daughter. And in return they give us whatever we ask."
Feyd growls, "I outta slit your throat, uncle."
The Baron laughs, "This is for your benefit as much as it is mine, dear nephew. Now go."
Feyd storms out of the room, a hurricane of rage sweeping through the halls. He has never felt an anger this severe in quite some time. He should have known something like this would happen eventually. And, knowing his uncle, there is another scheme at play.
Always plans within plans within plans.
It's not the worst situation, he muses later when he has calmed and steadied his mind.
House Wallach would be a formidable ally, an asset that shouldn't be taken lightly. With control over three planets and being the largest horticultural power in the Landsraad, they are powerful indeed.
The leaders of House Wallach has birthed only a daughter, which leaves them without a male heir. All manner of eligible men have tried their hand at a marriage to their daughter. None has been successful.
Until now, apparently.
A feral grin spreads across Feyd's face as he thinks of the possibilities.
He will have no issue wedding the daughter and taking control of House Wallach when the time is right.
And, perhaps if he plays his cards right, take control of House Harkonnen as well.
He cares not who he has to marry, even if he'll be mad about it for awhile. After all, he can dispose of her eventually.
~~~
Feyd arrives with much fanfare, as befitting the na-Baron of House Harkonnen.
Bright sunshine surrounds those gathered to greet him, people who are swamped in bright greens, yellows, and browns. All around the envoy are orchards of all kinds of fruit trees. A vibrant sea of green.
So much more colour than Feyd is used to.
His expression remains neutral as he greats the Lord and Lady of the House. They appear cautious of him, perhaps overly so. It seems they know House Harkonnen’s reputation.
"It is an honour to be here," he says, bowing slightly. The lie slides easily off his tongue.
"We are pleased to have you in our home, na-Baron." The Lord says, returning the bow. "Our daughter is so pleased that you accepted the match."
Feyd's lips quirk up. Surely he's lying, no noble lady would hold any desire for a creature like him.
"As I said, it's an honour."
His gaze sweeps around, searching for his wife-to-be. All he finds is diplomats and soldiers.
"Where is Lady Wallach?" He asks, unimpressed at her absence.
"Forgive us, your arrival coincided with an event she could not miss," the Lord replies. "She is attending a Munus Ceremony."
This catches Feyd's attention, "A fight?"
"Yes, if you come this way, we may still witness part of it."
Feyd follows Lord Wallach, silently fuming.
His betrothed is watching other men fight to the death instead of welcoming him? His outrage is unparalleled, yet he remains collected.
They lead him up to the viewing tower of an outdoor coliseum, with vines growing on every available surface.
The viewing box is empty.
"There my lord."
Feyd's attention is brought down to a figure in the ring who brandishes a dagger with a graceful air.
"Our daughter,” Lord Wallach smiles, the action appearing forced.
He hadn't expected this.
Feyd was picturing a regal noble lady, demure and pitiful. He had not once pictured this creature before him, fluid in her movements as she battles her opponent.
She blocks attacks with ease and avoids ones that would cause serious damage all while attacking just as fiercely. Her opponent is skilled, to be sure, but is no match for the ruthlessness of her attacks.
He falls to the ground, unmoving. Feyd’s bride-to-be lifts her arms in victory, grinning as blood drips down her blade.
“We honour!” She shouts, and the crowd responds with deafening cheers.
“We know she is not exactly… How can I put it? Traditional, let’s say.” Her mother frets, “But she will be a good wife, na-Baron.”
He barely hears her, eyes transfixed on the beauty in the arena as she battles another opponent. Yes, this is an interesting turn of events indeed.
“Of course she will,” Feyd replies. “I must meet her.”
He watches as she disappears into the building, no doubt going to change and bathe after her match.
“Certainly. She’ll be out to give you a tour in no time. Meanwhile, a guard can show you to your room.”
Displeased, Feyd nods and obediently follows the man to his room. As soon as he’s alone, Feyd opens the door and stalks out with determination.
He cannot wait.
There is surprisingly little security surrounding your change room, Feyd notes as he quietly opens the door.
Your piercing gaze meets him immediately. Instead of being frightened, like he had anticipated, you smile warmly.
“Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, I was not expecting you here. I’m afraid you have caught me unprepared to greet you properly,” you say calmly as you continue to unbutton your fighting tunic.
He doesn’t know what to make of your reaction. You’re not put off by his presence at all.
“I couldn’t wait,” he replies honestly.
You hum, “Excited to see me, na-Baron?”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
The sound of your laughter is unexpected, “Of course not. I doubt I was what you were anticipating.”
His gaze lingers as you remove your clothes and retrieve a washcloth and bucket.
“Don’t you have servants?” He finds himself asking, motioning to the washcloth.
“I prefer to do it myself.”
He frowns, “You don’t seem very noble.”
“I assure you, Wallach blood flows deep in my veins,” your voice has taken an edge.
It seems he’s struck a nerve.
“I meant no insult, my lady,” his grin says otherwise, his voice rough and teasing. “It just appears you have odd taste. Fighting and doing the work servants should be doing.”
You return his even gaze, “I am not some snivelling noble who cannot take care of herself. Feyd, it seems you do not remember me.”
Your last statement has him pausing.
“What did you say?”
Lathering suds onto your bloodied skin, you barely spare him a glance.
“I said you don’t remember me. We met once, you know.”
He does not remember such a thing.
“Don’t toy with me,” he snarls. “Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying,” you roll your eyes. “Feydie, I can’t say I’m not hurt you don’t recall.”
Your bastardization of his name brings a memory to the front of his mind.
A young girl bearing the Wallach crest getting angry with him over something and punching him clear across the face. He naturally returned the blow and they broke out into a fight right then and there.
He’s shocked he forgot it.
You watch as recognition filters through his eyes. Smiling, you rinse the suds off your body.
“Now you remember. To be honest, I don’t know why I was so angry with you.”
“You’ve always been a fighter,” he acknowledges with an inclination of his head.
“And I knew you could not be satisfied with a weak wife.”
He’s coming to realize this match may not have been a scheme of just his uncle.
“You wanted this match,” he phrases it as a statement as if he already knows the answer.
You smirk, “Does it not please you?”
“What makes you think I would want you as a wife?” He sneers, crossing his arms.
“I know you planned on controlling me, or killing me - whichever suited your needs best. You want power, Feyd. I can give you that and so much more. Is it too much to ask for you in return?”
He cannot find words, mulling over your proposal as his eyes study your every move.
You’ve certainly grown from that little girl who could barely throw a proper punch yet had the rage to carry through a fight.
Feyd observes as you dry yourself off. He leans over before you can, and grabs your fresh shirt from the table.
“Allow me, my lady.”
Surprised, you nod and present your back to him. A foolish mistake, to turn your back on a potential threat. He contemplates disposing of you right now, but finds himself frowning at the idea.
You’re so much more interesting than he first imagined.
Despite himself, he wants to know you better, to find out when you had your first gladiatorial fight or when you realized you could be so much more than wedding fodder for your parents to make a match with.
“So many suitors have tried to win your hand,” Feyd rasps as he guides your arms through the sleeves of your shirt. “Yet you denied them all.”
“None were you, my lord.”
“Why chose me?” He leans into you, pressing his chest to your back as he slowly starts buttoning your shirt.
You lean back into him, “You are a fighter, a warrior. You can wield blades and talk politics. And I know you can treat me right.”
“Why would I treat you any different than a common whore?” He suddenly presses his arm against your throat, cutting off your oxygen.
He looks at your expression, surprised to find a wide grin. A flash of pain goes through his side. Your eyes flicker downwards and Feyd looks down to find the tip of a blade piercing his skin.
He releases his hold.
“You will treat me differently, Feyd. And do you know why?”
You turn to face him, placing your hand on his bleeding wound.
“Because I will make you.”
Feyd cannot stop the smile forming on his plush lips as you bring your hand to his cheek.
He doesn’t say anything as you continue place a kiss to his lips before shoving him away.
“We must ready ourselves for the dinner tonight, there is much to discuss about the wedding.”
“Of course, my lady.”
[Likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated!]
Hello! Dropping by to say that I absolutely enjoy reading your work!! The Feyd fics are written beautifully!
Are you taking requests for Paul, or do you write exclusively for Feyd? :)
Hi thank you so much for the kind words!! I haven’t written for Paul yet, but I will accept requests for him too!
I just haven’t written for him yet cause Feyd has a grip on my heart at the moment lol
Stained got me blushing giggling kicking my feet aaaksjakjsl I love how you note Feyd's cunning and intelligence, in addition to his obviously attractive physical qualities. Looking forward to reading more of your work!!
Oh my gosh, thank you!! I am quite happy with how it turned out!!
Thank you so much for reading and taking time to send this lovely message <3
How about a feyd x reader where feyd has reader watch him in the arena to gain her favor. She is impressed with him and respects his prowess. Just before a huge match what if she goes to him and leaves a hand print in paint over his heart as her token rather than a sash like the others. This fires him up/ looks super cool on his skin.
Ooh I love this!! I did my own spin on it but I hope you still enjoy! :)
Imagine | Stained (Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen)
Word Count: 1,377
Warnings: biting
Cheers rise into the polluted air on Giedi Prime, a torrent of frenzied noise which alerts you to the occurrence of yet another gladiatorial event.
You hadn't realized there would be one today. Normally, you notice the announcements and the crowds gathering to go see the festivities. You don't often join them.
Watching people fight to death. . . it's not a habit of yours.
Lately though, you've noticed how often Feyd has been mentioning his fights, never outright asking you to watch them but leaving plenty of hints.
Being from a wealthy family has its benefits, especially on a harsh place such as this. Ever since you've been here, you've tried to make the best of it and befriend as many native Harkonnens as you can.
This first, and dare you say only, friend-adjacent connection you've made has been with Feyd-Rautha.
His brother is too animalistic and angry for your liking, and the Baron is a ghastly man you do not like to interact with. Servants won't speak to you and the Mentat Piter is sickening in his sadistic tendencies.
So, to your surprise, you got to know Feyd the best out of them all.
He's brutal, yes. Menacing and violent as well.
And so alone.
Sure, he has his concubines: his pets that he plays with but soon grows bored of. And yes, he has his mockery of a family: a predatory uncle and a nasty brother.
Yet you can see past his façade of aloofness, see into his inner self. And what you see is a man forged by others into what he is now.
You see a hurting man who doesn't know anything close to true kindness.
So yes, he is wild and vicious. But there is an intelligence and cunning within those dark eyes that you have seen countless times.
He's constantly observing, waiting for his moment to strike. He knows how to play his hand to benefit himself.
Despite his more undesirable traits, you'd dare call him a friend.
The cheering dies down as colourless fireworks burst in the air like ink stains. You watch them, casually leaning against the balcony railing.
Feyd finds you immediately, half undressed and still painted for fighting in the triangular colosseum.
"My lady," he rasps, approaching from behind slowly. "You did not watch the fights."
"It slipped my mind," you reply honestly. "Though I have no doubts you remain the champion, my lord."
His lips quirk upwards, "Naturally."
Your eyes roam over his blood splattered body, taking in the well-defined muscles which are decorated with paint. He's shirtless, how could you not stare?
He basks in your attention, cocky smirk never leaving his face. But it strains once you turn your attention away.
Feyd comes to lean against the rail beside you. You feel his eyes on you.
"You're coming to the next fight," he finally says once he realizes you're content to dwell in the silence.
You turn to face him with a smile, "Am I?"
His eyes narrow, voice quick and sharp, "Yes."
"You didn't ask."
Feyd tilts his head, "It's not a request."
"A command, my lord?"
"Yes," he repeats, leaning closer into your space. Your teasing tone is getting under his skin, you can tell. He's almost touching you now but you don't retreat.
This is the game you play.
"I suppose I can attend the next fight," you hum thoughtfully. "Especially since you've requested it personally."
He backs away slowly and you force yourself into staying still even as you desire to chase after him. His close proximity is intoxicating.
As if he senses your inner battle, he grins and nods to you before sauntering away.
"I will put on a good show for you, my lady."
You find yourself alone, wishing he had stayed longer.
~~~
It was not mentioned again, and now you find yourself in your room preparing for the event. You dress modestly, still unaccustomed to the fashions on Giedi Prime. A black dress does nicely, with your hair loose.
You still have plenty of time before your attendance is necessary, but you traverse to the arena despite this. The hallways are as colorless as everywhere else, a maze of black and white.
Feyd is being dressed as you enter the room. His sharp eyes betray a smidge of surprise which he masks underneath an air of haughtiness.
The servants attending him walk on eggshells, knowing that any wrong move could cause their demise.
"You may be dismissed," you say, addressing the servants.
Their eyes flicker to you with uncertainty. The servants do not move until Feyd snarls, "Do as she says!"
Instantly, they are gone.
And it's just you and the warrior.
You approach him slowly, picking up the paint pot that the servant abandoned. Circling him, you note how his eyes never leave you, even when he has to twist his head to keep you in his sights.
"My lord, I hope you can forgive my impertinence, showing up here unannounced."
"Don't be coy," he narrows his eyes, "You're not sorry."
"You're right," you chuckle, swirling the paintbrush through the inky paint. "I'm not sorry to see you, especially like this."
You rake your eyes over his flesh, barely concealed by a cloth wrapped around his waist. He is truly a fine specimen of a man.
"May I?" You ask, stopping in front of him.
He inclines his head. He hadn't been expecting this, since you seemed intent on avoiding the fights entirely.
You begin by painting the smaller rectangles across his chest and then move to his back. Your brushstrokes are slow, methodic.
He anticipates each cool touch as you meticulously paint his flawless skin. He wishes it was your touch he was feeling, your hands against his skin. He craves it.
Next, you adorn his abdomen, barely concealing the excitement you feel being this close to him. As you finish, he reaches for his clothes but you stop him with a hand on his arm.
"I'm not finished, my lord."
Intrigued, he returns his arm to his side, staring you down.
You coat the palm of your right hand with the inky black liquid, never breaking eye contact with Feyd. He doesn't stop you as you press your hand against his warm chest, right where his heart would be.
You start to pull away, but he is quick to grip your wrist, keeping you in place. For a second, you are concerned that you went too far. Maybe this is the day he kills you for your insolence?
Instead, he lunges forward, catching you in a hungry kiss. He bites and takes, and you surrender with ease. A sense of relief and excitement floods your senses as you kiss back just as passionately.
"It is fitting," he says once he parts from you.
He watches as you slowly peel your hand from his skin, leaving a perfect handprint over his heart.
"What is?"
"That you should mark me like this," he grins to reveal blackened teeth. "You are a stain on my heart."
"How so?" You're still breathless, allured by his gravelly voice.
"All it longs for is your touch, you vixen."
You caress his cheek, "I'm just marking what I own. And once you're declared the victor, you can come claim what's yours."
Your words ignite a fire in him and he starts forward but you step back.
His glare is venomous, as if you just deprived him of oxygen.
"You have a fight to win, Feyd. Shouldn't you be preparing?"
Turning, you begin to walk away.
A rough hand snatches your shoulder, and a hot mouth is on your neck before you can blink. He bites down harshly, drawing spots of blood. The pain is expected when dealing with a man like Feyd, but it is still surprising.
You really have gotten under his skin.
He releases the pressure of his teeth and drags his tongue over the wound.
"You needed a mark too, my sweet."
You turn and press a chaste kiss to the top of his head, "Go make me proud, Feyd. I shall see you in your chambers after the fight."
He lets you leave, watching with blood stained lips.
"As you command, so it shall be."
[please like, comment, and reblog if you enjoyed!]
Imagine Feyd attending a ball and being bored to tears until you appear in the crowd.
A/n- thanks to everyone who read and supported my other Feyd fic!! I hope you all enjoy this one too :)
Word Count: 1,353
Warnings: none
The ballroom is overrun with diplomats and politicians. All dressed up in their very best attire, each one is hoping to impress those richer and more influential than themselves.
Feyd observes with a bored demeanour, swirling the blood red wine in his goblet. He’s leaning against a white pillar, staring out at the people with keen dark eyes.
A celebration of this degree isn’t something to be missed, his Uncle had said, insisting on his attendance.
So he attends, although he is bored from the lack of any meaningful conversations or actions. The feast was the best part, his favourite piece a bloody rare steak that practically melted in his mouth.
No one has come to speak with him out of a desire to just chat. No, each person who spoke had an ulterior motive and fear in their eyes. They want to be on the Harkonnen’s good side, lest they become victims instead. So, they chat about inconsequential things, all the while their hands shake and betray their frayed nerves.
Feyd found it amusing at first, but has since grown tired of it. These fickle politics and the endless pursuit of money. Money and power make this universe worth living in.
Music begins to play, a sensual drum beat joined by the strumming of string instruments and an angelic vocalizer. The sea of mingling people part as they allow the dancers the necessary space to move.
Feyd’s lips curl as he watches people join in the dance, the ballroom finally used for its original purpose.
People in skin tight dresses, fashionable suits, those showing too much skin, some showing none- the room is flooded with a menagerie of humans.
Each one is dancing with a partner, bending and swaying to the rhythm. All accept one.
He watches her move in perfect synchronization with the lilting music, lifting her arms high in the air. She avoids the stuffy aristocratic dancers who hardly allow the music to carry them.
She looks like a woman possessed. As if the melody has taken root deep within her and bids her to perform a marvellous spell.
It must be a spell, for he finds himself bewitched.
No one else has captured his attention so profoundly this whole event. He hasn’t even spoken with her yet and oh how he wishes too.
He must.
Feyd has never before desired to dance. Not unless it was the dance of battle, of blades clashing and blood dripping.
You have changed that.
As he watches you deftly twirling and clapping gently to the song, he cannot stop his body from acting on its own accord.
And Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, fearsome warrior, finds himself pushing through the crowd to join you in your hypnotic dance.
You notice when the handsome stranger leaves his spot by the pillar, his eyes fixated only on you. You’re not sure how to feel.
During the dinner, you had walked by him on the way to your designated place. You’re from a minor house, not fit to sit with the guests from the major ones. Not that you minded, it’s always been this way.
He had caught your attention immediately. Brooding and gorgeous, with full, sensual lips and the palest skin you’ve ever seen, how could you resist admiring him?
He hadn’t noticed you then.
He notices you now.
A soft smile graces your lips as he reaches you, dark eyes boring into yours. You stop as he reaches out a sculpted hand.
You take it.
His hand is warm, and you can sense the strength hiding just beneath his skin. This man is dangerous, you realized that when you first spotted him.
To your surprise, he is an excellent dancer, leading you in perfect harmony to the music. You can barely hear the music over the pounding of your heart.
This wasn’t what you expected.
“You are a wonderful dancer,” you whisper once you’re close enough to hear each other.
His smirk is prideful, “A fighter must be lithe and nimble, my lady.”
His voice is raspy, deep. Again, you are taken by surprise.
“You must be an excellent warrior too.”
You spin around, his hand guiding you. He has dropped his smile, replaced it with a predatory look reminiscent of a hungry panther.
“The best,” he replies, supporting your back as he dips you downwards.
The other dancers seem to fade away as you dance with him, this frightening stranger. His touches are like a fire unto you, his gaze a steady burning.
He dances as if it’s a battle of dominance. He leads without hesitation, and you answer with the fluidity and grace befitting a lady.
It’s exhilarating.
And it’s gone too soon as the music dies down and the other clap for the musicians.
Breathing heavily, you simply stare at this man who joined you in rapturous movement, not wanting it to end.
He hasn’t let go of your hand.
You don’t want him to.
“What’s your name?” You ask before he can slip away and disappear forever. If he did, you’d at least want to remember his name.
He smirks, “You don’t know me?”
“No, or I would not have asked,” you point out.
He chuckles, revealing blacked teeth, “I am na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, my lady.”
You blink at this revelation. You’ve never met a Harkonnen before, let alone a such a high ranking one.
Feyd expects you to recoil in fright, surely knowing the brutality his house is known for. He is taken aback when you smile.
“I am pleased to meet you,” you in line your head slightly as you supply your own name.
He realizes his hand is still clasping yours and that you don’t seem to mind it one bit. Feyd gently tugs you towards him, “Come, it is too crowded here.”
Perhaps foolishly, you allow yourself to be led away from the ballroom and into a quiet hall.
It’s late, and you can see the stars through the sheer curtains of the hallway.
“Are you enjoying the festivities? You seemed unhappy,” you ask. “I saw you by the pillar.”
“I was bored,” he admits without care. “Before the dance.”
“And now?”
“And now I have welcome company and my boredom has fled in the wake of your beauty.”
He traces a hand, still so warm, down your cheek. You bask in the attention, wondering if this is all a dream you’ll wake from in a moment.
Feyd’s hand goes lower, until it grasps around your neck and tightens. Not enough to cause damage, but enough to still your breathing. With his grip tight, he pulls you forward and kisses you deeply.
It’s intoxicating.
He kisses like he dances, dominating and alluring. You bring your hands up to grip his shoulders as he continues his assault on your senses.
“Everything was dull until you danced into my sight,” he rasps as you catch your breath. “I’ve never seen such a vision.”
“I have never seen a man like you,” you confess, resting a hand on his chest. “You have such intensity…”
“Does it frighten you?”
“No, no it thrills me, my lord.”
The way those words roll off your tongue has Feyd hooked, his mouth latching onto your neck as he cups your face with one hand.
“Do you know what I’ve done?” He asks, unsure why he’s asking.
“I know you’ve danced beautifully,” you smile. “And I know your touch feels electrifying. And I know you’re going to take me into an empty room.”
You withdraw from him slightly, awestruck at the hunger in his eyes.
“And what happens then?”
He retakes your hand, not too gently this time, and practically drags you to the nearest room, slamming the pen the door.
Luckily, no one is in there.
“You know what happens next,” you say, already stripping him of his fine shirt before doing the same to yourself.
Feyd is glad he decided to come to this festival, thanking his lucky stars as he stares in awe at your beauty.
He wonders if you make love as spellbindingly as you dance.
just popping in to say that ur feyd fic was delightful !! u captured his character so well i litch got weak in the knees reading it😫😫 thank you for sharing your talent !!
Aww thank you so much!!! 💖💖💖
This is the highest compliment ever and thank you for this message!! I love hearing feedback, it keeps me motivated!
Imagine Feyd discovering that someone has dared to harm what’s his.
Word Count: 1,574
Warnings: possessive!Feyd, objectification, blood, murder, (Feyd is his own psychotic warning in himself to be honest.)
Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is not known for his mercy.
Ask anyone in the universe who has heard even a whisper of House Harkonnen, and they will warn to tread carefully when dealing with them. If you value your life, you wouldn't even get near them.
And everyone knows Feyd-Rautha is one of the best examples of Harkonnen rage and violence, second only to his uncle, the Baron.
Renowned for his physical prowess as a fighter, his insatiable lust for blood and death, and his determination to rise in power and favour, he is a force to be reckoned with.
So why would anyone dare go against him?
He finds himself asking this as he looks upon your form, head bowed and turned slightly away from him. Hiding something.
Gracefully and predatory as a panther, he approaches you slowly.
"My darling.." his voice rasps.
Normally you greet him immediately, recognizing his footfalls from down the hall. You would smile at your na-Baron and ask him how his day went if you did not spend it with him.
You are oddly subdued tonight.
His eyes, always searching, follow a drop which falls from your cheek, landing on the cold concrete floor. Instantly, he is before you, grasping your chin in his strong hand. He tilts your head up, none too gently, and examines your tear-stained face.
"What happened?" His already raspy voice is deeper, darker.
Feyd is no stranger to your tears. In fact, he often revels in their presence, trying all sorts of things to make you cry. But he hasn't done anything to illicit that response today.
When you don't offer an answer right away, his grip tightens, squishing your cheeks together.
"Speak."
His voice holds no room for disobedience. You nod your head and he releases you, stepping back slightly.
You shake slightly as you begin, "I am sorry, na-Baron."
Feyd's anger is growing. You only call him that in public or when you are disturbed.
"Do not apologize. Explain," he can't stop himself from hissing.
"I took a walk today," you begin slowly. "Just to the training grounds to see if you were there. But I didn't see you so I walked back. He stopped me and-"
"'He'?" Feyd echoes.
"Richter," you supply the name of one of the Baron's top generals. "He grabbed me and said I was a no-good whore who should've been disposed of long ago."
Anger swirls with Feyd's chest at this news. Of course, many people have said harsh and often cruel things to you. But you always kept your head high and ignored the jabs. You’re always so strong.
This is different, he can tell.
"What else? You are not one to cry over a mere insult," he brings his hand up to swipe a tear from your soft cheek. You lean into his touch, relishing in its familiarity.
You inhale deeply, "He struck me without warning, na-Baron."
In his oft colourless word, all Feyd now sees is red.
"Where?" His voice is so low it's almost impossible to hear.
You shake as you lower the collar of your dress to reveal a swollen area on your shoulder, "Here."
His dark eyes flicker to yours, bidding you to continue.
You move your hand to your face and gently touch your tearstained cheek, "And here."
Feyd's hand clenches into a fist. He bends closer to examine your face, noting the slight swelling and the way you bow your head. He places his hand on the back of your head, angling your face upwards. A featherlight kiss is applied to your skin so softly you can barely feel it.
Your master and lover rises to his full height, "Rest my darling, I shall return shortly."
He turns to leave but you reach out and grab his arm. Feyd stops and turns to stare at you.
"Please, na-Baron. Don't hurt him."
He scowls at your request, "He has hurt you. Death is his reward."
"He has done nothing that you have not," you say. "I have known worse pain from your own hands.”
Feyd shakes his head and grips your arms, dragging you forward to stand with your bodies touching.
"Only I can touch what's mine. Only I can hurt you how I see fit. You take the pain only I give you." He dips his head close to your ear, breath sending shivers down your spine. “Do you understand?”
"Of course, my lord na-Baron," your voice is breathy.
You are intoxicated by his closeness, the dangerous poise with which he caries himself, the possessiveness of his words and the truth of them.
"Say it."
"I'm yours alone, Feyd."
He crashes his lips onto yours, teeth clashing and lips bruising from the force of it. His hand squeezes your neck as he kisses you. When he finally parts, leaving you breathless, he takes a moment to admire you. His thumb brushes against your lips before he turns once more.
"That swine sealed his fate when he laid hands on what's mine," Feyd growls as he stalks out of the room.
He returns mere minutes later, dragging an incredibly nervous Richter behind him. With a violent shove, he pushes the frightened man to stand before you.
"I heard you disrespected my darling," Feyd points to the floor. "Kneel."
Richter obeys without hesitation. He knows how quick Feyd is to anger… and how few survive it.
"Kiss her shoe."
The man's eyes flicker to yours.
"Now," Feyd places his foot on Richter's back, forcing him down.
Shakily, he presses his lips to your shoe with a mumbled apology. It does nothing to sate Feyd-Rautha's wrath.
With practised ease, Feyd lands a harsh kick to the man's ribs. He repeats the action until the man is a sobbing mess splayed before your feet like an offering.
You regard him coldly, remembering the bite of his hand across your face.
“Please! Please forgive me, my lord!” Richter manages to sob coherent words. Spit and blood dribbles from his mouth pathetically.
“You have insulted me,” Feyd states. “Hurt what’s mine, belittled what’s mine.”
The man’s hand reaches towards your foot, as if you could spare him from the savage that is Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen.
Feyd crushes his hand beneath his shoe, grinding down eliciting a whimper of pain, as he steps before you and above his prey.
He is regal in his violence, eyes shining with possessive obsession.
“Dear one,” he places his hand on your arm before handing you one of his blades. “Help me.”
He smirks as you grip the knife tightly. Your eyes meet his.
Feyd knows you’d do anything he asked of you, just as he knows he’d burn the universe to ashes if you asked him too.
“Of course, my lord,” you say, kneeling by the hurt man. “If it pleases you.”
Feyd’s grin reveals blackened teeth, “You please me, dearest. Now, make him suffer for insulting me and mine.”
The first cut is shallow, uncertain as it travels down the man’s bare arm. Feyd tsks his disapproval.
You adjust your grip and slash again, quickly this time, hitting deep and pointedly. The man screams out and thrashes, but Feyd is upon him in a second. He holds Richter still as you unleash your rage upon him.
Feyd watches you draw blood with a pleasure he’s never experienced before. Relishing in your bared teeth and angry snarls, he commits this to his memory.
He halts your hand as the man ceases his thrashing. With a predatory smile, Feyd guides your hand with his, penetrating the blade deep into the man’s throat.
You watch the man loose his life, as you pant with exertion.
“You have done well, my pet,” Feyd praises, removing the knife from your hand and tossing it aside. He places his hand atop your head.
“Thank you, Feyd.”
He moves his hand down your back and presses his face into your blood stained neck, inhaling deeply. Your hands come around to grasp his shoulders, bringing him close to you. He wraps his strong arms around you, holding you like a lover would.
When he sits up, you lunge forward, capturing his lips with yours. Ignoring the blood and the dead body on the floor, you guide Feyd towards the bed, hands leaving bloody marks on his pale skin.
“Please let me repay you,” you beg, tugging at his shirt. “Allow me to repent.”
“You don’t need to repent, love. But you can keep begging.”
He allows you to disrobe him and press him down onto the soft bedding.
In all honesty, Feyd craves this battle of dominance between you. He could overpower you in an instant, yet the hold you have over him has him bending to your will.
You need only beg and he would take a knee and worship at your feet.
And you know it.
You know he craves this, needs it like an addict. He adores the pain you can lavish upon him, adores the meek demeanour you show to everyone else, adores the side of you that matches his own carnal desires tenfold, adores the way you gladly bleed for him.
He adores you.
And you worship each other in a wicked ritual of blood, sweat, and tears each night.
And he’d never let anyone take this away from him- take you away from him.
He’d kill anyone who dared try.
~~~
[A/n- thanks for reading! Please let me know if you liked it :)]
Imagine getting into a food fight and then cleaning up :)
Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, bathing, non-sexual nudity, general good vibes.
Word Count: 1,056
(Not my gif)
"What's going on?" You ask with arms crossed.
"Nuf'n," comes the mumbled reply from Luffy. His face is stuffed full of the cake you had just finished icing, frosting plastered all over his face.
"Sure," you drawl, shaking your head.
Honestly, you excepted nothing less from Luffy. You know him better than anyone else. That's why you actually made two cakes and hid the other one where he can't get his grubby hands on it.
"You weren't supposed to eat that."
"But it was right here," he whines.
"No excuse."
He slowly pushes a piece of the cake across the table towards you.
"I saved you a piece."
You can't help but smile at that display of affection. Luffy is notorious for not sharing his food, but he always shares with you.
"Thanks, Luff," you grab a fork and sit down. "I'll forgive you this time."
He laughs, "You always forgive me, Y/n!"
You flick some cake from your fork and hit him directly on the forehead, "Only cause you're a dumbass."
He laughs harder at that, sending a splat of cake onto your cheek as he does.
Your laughter joins his as you stand and smush a larger piece of the frosted goodness into his face. He sits still for a minute before bolting to his feet and smashing his lips against yours.
Taken by surprise, you are quick to return the favour. The taste of cake on your tongue coupled with Luffy's lips is a heavenly sensation.
He breaks away with a huge grin, “I’m your dumbass, dumbass.”
You wipe some of the cake from his cheek, “We should go get washed up. You’re a mess.”
“So are you, shishishi,” he giggles.
“You two are making me sick!” Nami exclaims, having been silently judging you two for having a food fight as she sat in the corner and flipped through her ledger.
You and Luffy simultaneously stick out your tongues in her direction.
She rolls her eyes and goes back to ignoring you both. You know it’s all in good fun, Nami is your best friend after all. She just likes to tease you.
The weather has been excellent today, not a cloud in the sky. But you told Sanji you’d make dessert today, so that’s why you were in the kitchen. Luffy had snuck in after you went to tell Sanji that the cakes were done.
Now, you grab Luffy’s warm hand and drag him into the bathroom, serious about getting clean.
“Y/n, I don’t wanna,” he grumbles.
“But we’re filthy,” you reason. “Besides, I thought you didn’t mind bathing with me? Do you want me to go?”
You turn to leave, embarrassed at assuming he wanted to share a bath with you. Before you can walk out the door, hands grab your shoulders and spin you around.
Luffy pouts at you, having stretched his arms to stop you.
“Don’t leave! I didn’t mean that,” he pulls you close and you let him. “I like spending alone time with you.”
“Same here, Luff.”
You smile at him and he returns the grin. Turning the tap on, you fill the tub with hot water, adding sweet smelling suds.
Meanwhile, Luffy’s taken off his hat and shirt, tossing them on the floor. You grab a soft washcloth, getting the worst of the cake off of Luffy before focusing on yourself.
Stripping down, you and Luffy quickly step into the shower to rinse off before sinking down into the soapy water of the bath.
The tub has more than enough room for you both, but Luffy wraps his arms around you and draws you close to him. You lean back against him, smiling in his embrace.
It’s the tender moments like these that bring a swell of warmth to your heart.
Sure, you always know how much love you have for each other, but there’s something special in these quiet moments.
Normally, you’re both boisterous and loud. Making jokes and going on adventures. The last battle you went through had seriously drained your energy though. Luffy seems to realize that you need this downtime.
He slowly rubs circles into your arm with the washcloth, lazily washing you.
You let him, relaxing as he gentle cleanses you.
“Luffy, thank you.”
“What for?” He genuinely sounds confused. “I didn’t do anything?”
“Just, for being here and being you.”
“I’m always here for you, silly,” he pats your head.
“I know, I just want you to know I appreciate you.”
You take the cloth from his hand as you give him a small kiss.
“My turn,” you guide him in front of you, wanting to have a turn as the big spoon.
He obliged without question, resting his head on your bosom and gazing up into your eyes.
“I love you.”
“I love you too,” you kiss his forehead as you tenderly wash his chest.
Your hands cover each of his scars, replacing the traumatic memories of how he acquired them with your loving touch instead.
Water hot around you, you secure your arms around him, sighing contentedly into the crook of his neck.
He giggles and twists to kiss your lips again, “That tickles.”
“Whoops,” you chuckle back, chasing his lips when he moves away. “Get back here.”
He splashes you with water, effectively leaving you sputtering. You grin with fire in your eyes and return the onslaught of water tenfold.
The laughter must be extremely loud, cause a bang of the door interrupts your water fight.
“Don’t make a mess in there!”
You exchange a look with Luffy before guffawing loudly, “Too late, Nami!!”
She cusses you both out loudly as you laugh hysterically and continue your fight.
“We really should get out now though,” you say after it’s calmed down a bit.
He pouts and scrunches his face.
“Guess what?” You say as you start drawing the tub and grab a fluffy towel to dry off.
“What?”
You grin mischievously, “I made two cakes.”
His eyes light up brightly, “Really?!!”
By now, you’re already clothed and have your hand on the door handle.
“Yup, and it’s all mine!” You laugh as you race from the room, leaving Luffy behind as his legs get tangled in his shorts.
“Wait, Y/n-“ he yells after you.
Laughing, you race to the kitchen, Luffy close behind you.
Imagine doing some shopping when a strange man won’t leave you alone.
Warnings: some violence, reader is harassed and threatened, reader is a badass
Word Count: 1143
(Not my gif)
You couldn’t remember the last time you stayed on an island this long. It must’ve been years ago, long before you met him.
Traveling had always been a desire of yours. To traverse the world, discovering different cultures and landscapes, that was your dream.
And you’ve been living it gratefully for years.
Of course, it’s always nice to spend more than a few days ashore once you have the opportunity.
Your Captain has business on this tropic island, and you’ve been enjoying the leisure time that this gives you.
Right now, you’re shopping at the local markets, admiring the bright jewelry and clothing that the various vendors offer.
A raucous laugh sounds off behind you. You ignore it, minding your own business, even as you hear a loud whistle.
“Hey, pretty lady,” a man’s voice says.
You continue ignoring it, instead reading the price of a beautiful red jewel.
This apparently aggravates the man trying to get your attention. He grabs your shoulder roughly, expecting it to be easy to turn you towards him.
You remain in place, stronger than the man anticipated.
After he removes his hand, you turn to him with a frown, “May I help you?”
He’s a tall man in a nice suit, not too shabby looking. Too bad his personality is rotten. Behind him are five more men in similar fashion. You take clear note of the weapons strapped to their sides.
“I was talking to you,” he growls. “I don’t like being ignored.”
“I don’t like being hassled,” you retort, crossing your arms.
“I was just saying how gorgeous you are,” he explains with a slimy grin.
You turn on your heel, “Thanks.”
“Hey!” He shouts, getting closer to you so that you can feel his breath. “Don’t you know who I am?”
“Do you know who I am?” You ask pointedly.
“You’re a pretty piece of ass that needs to be taught a lesson,” he scowls, stepping back. “And we’ll gladly be your teachers.”
Disgust washes over you.
“Are you trying to hit on me? Because you’re doing a poor job of it. And you’re wasting your breath- I’m already taken.”
“I could take you better than he ever could,” he tries to argue.
Your laughter is impossible to hold back, “You’re delusional, you aren’t even near his level. You should stop talking now.”
A smirk forms on your lips as you watch the man shake with anger. His eyes are alight with rage at being shot down and humiliated in front of his friends.
Meanwhile, you’ve mentally checked out, comparing the red of the jewel to your man’s hair. He loves seeing you in his colour.
A loud click goes off near your ear, the kiss of cold metal on your temple a warning not to move.
“You’re gonna regret speaking to me like that.”
You step back from the market stall, shooting an apologetic look towards the owner. The poor girl looks terrified.
One of the man’s lackeys has pulled his gun on you, standing much too close for comfort.
Unimpressed, you shake your head, “How immature.”
“I’m going to-“
He stops as a malevolent aura suddenly appears, causing sweat to form on his brow.
“What exactly are you going to do?” A deceptively calm voice speaks out, followed by footsteps as a red-haired man approaches.
The man in front of you has gone paler than a corpse, shaking just like the man holding the gun against your head.
“Red-Haired Shanks,” a man near you whispers in terror.
They seem to be grasping the situation now. Although, you could have handled the situation just fine on your own.
You smile at your man, who raises a quizzical brow.
“These guys bothering you?”
Before you can reply, the hassler interrupts, “Please, sir we had no idea-“
A gunshot rings out and the gun pressed against your head suddenly falls as the man collapses in a display of bright red blood.
Infuriated, you kick out, knocking the guy to the floor next to his dead buddy.
“Shut up. You should have respected me regardless of who I associate with,” you deliver a harsh kick to his side before pressing your foot on top of his chest.
“Scum like you are less than worms to me,” you grit out, adding more pressure until you hear a sickening crack of a broken rib and the man cries out in pain. “You never know when to quit.”
You reach out a hand towards Shanks and he hands you his sword without hesitation. None of this dimwit’s posse do anything to try and help their leader.
They know it’s a battle they could never win.
With a graceful flick of your wrist, the man below you is impaled through the heart. A clear message to anyone watching.
You fix your gaze on the remaining losers, “Don’t harass people, okay?”
They nod profusely, muttering nonstop apologies as they retreat quickly.
You crouch down to wipe the blood off of Shank’s sword, handing it back with a smirk.
“Darling,” he sheathes his weapon, moving closer to you and pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. “That was stunning.”
“Shanks, I was handling it just fine before you showed up,” you say, passing a glance over his shoulder to offer a smile to Benn Beckman. “But thanks for the assist anyways.”
“I know, but you know how I get seeing someone get so close to you,” Shanks says, looping his arm around your shoulders. “Especially when they threaten what’s mine.”
You grin, pressing your lips against his and nipping at him playfully.
“Why didn’t you deal with them sooner?” He inquires once you break away.
“Maybe I wanted to play the part of the damsel for once,” you tease. “Seeing you all protective and possessive gets me riled up.”
“Vixen,” he laughs, “You knew I was watching.”
“I always know, Shanks,” you wink at him. “Just like I know you’ll buy this for me.”
You show him the jewel that perfectly matches the shade of his hair.
He laughs, handing the money over to the shopkeeper, “I could never deny you, Y/n.”
He embraces you again and you lean into his warmth, inhaling the familiar scent of sake and sea breeze.
“I think I’ll have it made into a ring, that way everyone will know you’re mine.”
The grin that breaks onto your face is enough to brighten his whole lifetime.
He hugs you closer and presses a chaste kiss to your head.
He’d never let anyone else touch his treasure, he’d destroy anyone if they tried.
But he also knows you can fend for yourself, one of the many qualities that he adores about you.
You take his hand, leading him down the market, “Now you’re stuck shopping with me~”
Warnings: spoilers for Impel Down!!! You’ve been warned.
Word Count: 980
(Not my gif)
"Why are you helping me?"
The question was asked with a tilted head as the boy in the straw hat stared you down.
You just grinned, “Like you, there's someone I'm looking for, and I think he's in here."
"Well, then we'll find him!" Luffy copied your grin, “After we rescue Ace!"
"Of course," you smiled back, "It won't be too hard to break in and out of the impregnable Impel Down."
"That's the spirit!" He laughed, clapping you on the back.
You laughed and raced alongside the young teen.
Confident in your abilities, you rush forwards, uncaring about the possible complications and consequences that could befall you.
The presence of the young teen is a good booster for the spirit. Even when serious, he has that uplifting energy that you admire him for.
It's best to have an ally in this place, you realized that early on. Therefore, you decided to team up with him as soon as you spotted him.
It's not like you were strangers.
Sure, you weren't exactly friends per se, more like acquaintances. Having run into him and his crew a few times, you're familiar enough with him that you're comfortable being allies in such a rough place.
You barely survived the fight against Magellan, Luffy taking the brunt of the damage until you, Luffy, and Bon Clay were ‘Demoned Away’ to Newkama Land.
There, you met the infamous Emporio Ivankov. You’d heard much about him and his followers, so you were honoured to meet him in person.
Albeit, a bit taken aback by his outlandish personality and bizarre followers. He helped Luffy and you, so you were indebted to him.
And now here you are, trying to escape level six and get back out of the prison. It’s a long ways to go and you aren’t thrilled.
You’ve been searching every cell looking for the man you came to find, but have had no luck. Luffy’s had just as much luck as you, seeing as Ace is already on his way to the execution area.
A sinister laugh sounds, deep and rich.
Your ears perk up immediately.
“If you want to escape from here, set me free.”
The voice is deeper than the ocean, smooth as snake skin. You’d recognize it anywhere.
“I can open a hole in the ceiling. So, how about it?”
The sharp clang of shackles rings loudly as the prisoner stands up and walks to the bars of the cell.
“Long time no see, Mugiwara.”
You grin, racing over to the bars, “Crocodile! Here you are!”
His cold eyes meet yours as shock overcomes your companions. Luffy reaches out, clamping a hand on you to drag you back beside him.
“What are you doing, Y/n?! Don’t you know what he did?”
“Hmm, oh well yeah, but we’ve been close for ages!” You reply, slipping from his hold. “I can’t just let my boy rot in here.”
“Your boy?” Ivankov echoes.
Crocodile does not look impressed, “What are you doing here, Y/n?”
“I came to rescue you!”
“He’s who you’re here for?!” Luffy steps towards you, anger in his eyes. “He ruined Vivi’s country!”
“That’s all in the past, I have no interest in that anymore. But a war between the Marines and Whitebeard? That piques my interest,” Crocodile interjects.
“Gonna act like you’re not happy to see me, huh?” You cross your arms, staring at Crocodile.
He ignores you.
“Let’s release him, Mugiwara-boy. He would make an powerful ally,” the King of Newkama says.
“What-?”
“Ivankov,” Crocodile spits out, clearly not happy to see him. You unlock the cell door with a key you snagged earlier, opening it with a flourish and a grin.
“We can’t trust him completely, but I’ve known him since he was a rookie.”
“Really?” You ask, “I bet you have good stories!”
“Don’t say anything,” Crocodile growls.
“Don’t take that tone with me, I have no qualms sharing about your past,” Ivankov smirks.
You raise an eyebrow, “Oh please, I wanna know.”
Crocodile shoots you a glare to which you stick out your tongue.
“It’s only fair after that cold welcome you gave me. Croco-boyyy,” you tease before snatching his hand in yours.
You find the lock on his shackles and slide a different key into it, twisting it deftly. It falls to the ground and you let your hands linger on Crocodile’s skin.
He doesn’t shrug off your touch, but his tense expression doesn’t change.
“I missed you.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” he says as he flexes his hand. “It’s dangerous.”
“I’m used to danger, silly.”
He huffs in irritation, shooting a glance at the men watching. Luffy still seems to be in shock, while the other two look unaffected.
“Oh, here.”
You dig in your pocket for a second with a toothy grin, “I got you something.”
Smugly, you place a fat cigar into his hand, producing a lighter as well, “You must be cranky cause you had to quit cold-turkey.”
At this, his lips twitch into a soft smile. A smile that he only gave to you, for you alone could make him feel this way.
Not only did you care enough to break him out, but you also thought of the small things.
He places the lit cigar into his mouth, placing his hand on your head to ruffle your hair, “Thank you.”
You lean into his touch, savouring it.
While Luffy and the others discuss their next moves, Crocodile turns you to face him directly. He draws you into a quick hug.
“I missed you too, you know,” he whispers, tightening his hold mindlessly. “But I think you’re an idiot for coming down here.”
You laugh, “Well, we can talk about it more once we’re out of this shithole.”
He nods, focusing on the task at hand: escaping Impel Down with you by his side.
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