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kingkaizen · 11 hours

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𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝓽𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓽𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓸𝓷 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓸𝓭

∘ desc: various scenarios on how the jjk men treat you during that time of the month

∘ ft: gojo, geto, nanami, sukuna, + toji

∘ includes: blood, suggestive themes (toji)

Gojo

↠ Gojo always finds himself completely unprepared when your time of the month comes around

↠ He usually finds himself being your errand boy and getting everything that you need

“Babe, what size pussy do you have?”

You sat on the couch with the phone on speaker in disbelief. The amount of times that Gojo has seen the exact pack of pads that you wear and still couldn’t remember is unbelievable. “Satoru. I hope you know that they aren’t based on how big your vagina is.”

Gojo stared at the large array of pads in confusion. “I surely hope not because these overnight ones look very scary.”

“Please just get the third size for me,” you sighed, already feeling your headache coming on.

“Okay baby, I’ll be there soon alright? I’ll pick up those chocolates that you like and maybe some ice cream too.” Gojo hurriedly made his way around the store to pick up everything else that you’d need.

“That would be great, thank you” you replied, throwing your head back against the end of the couch as you waited for Gojo to come back and take care of you.

Geto

↠ Geto is a very mature man and things like periods don’t make him squeamish at all

↠ He understands why you could be embarrassed about having it in front of him but he tries to calm those nerves as much as he can

From the moment you opened your eyes, you could feel an immense amount of pain coming from your abdomen. With the pain in your lower back mixed with the sticky feeling between your legs, you already knew what was happening. However, it came a little early this month and you unfortunately weren’t even in your own bed. Embarrassment washes over you quickly as you turned to look at your boyfriend sound asleep next to you. You slowly nudged him awake.

“Suguru, I’m sorry” you whispered quietly as he opened his eyes, pupils making their way to his ruined sheets underneath you. Without even missing a beat, he got up and went straight into the bathroom.

Your first thought was that he was either about to throw up from seeing your blood on the sheets or he was too mad to even speak to you. Regardless, you sat there, too uneasy to even move. Before you could overthink any longer, you could hear the bathtub running as Geto made his way back to you.

“Let’s get these clothes off of you, princess.” He kissed your forehead as he helped you rise from his bed, peeling your night outfit off of you slowly. He led you to the now perfectly warm bathtub, helping you get in.

“Are you mad at me?” You felt so ashamed of yourself in this moment, not even able to look at him in his eyes. His fingers rested underneath your chin as he lifted your head to look at him.

“Why would I be mad at you for something so natural?” He kisses you again, a peck on the lips this time. “My sheets are temporary, I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

Nanami

↠ Nanami is complete boyfriend material when you’re on your period

↠ He has the tracker on his phone so that he knows ahead of time and is prepared

↠ He always has your favorite snacks and things ready for when it’s time

Walking into your shared home with your boyfriend after getting off from work, the last thing that you expect is to see him sitting on the couch, blankets folded next to him with some popcorn and a movie ready to play. Nanami always manages to do things like this for you, being incredibly attentive to your needs.

“Babe, what is all of this for?” You ask as you take off your shoes, watching as he walks towards you to shower you in kisses.

“I know you’re probably in a bit of pain so I wanted to make sure you could relax as soon as you got home today.” He helps you take off your coat before leading you over to the couch. He brings some wine from the kitchen before sitting down next to you.

“Thank you, my love.” You give him a sweet kiss before snuggling up against his warm body, feeling his arms wrap around you. He starts the movie, rubbing your tummy, the heat from his hand feeling incredibly soothing.

“How did you even know that I was on my period babe?”

“I track it on the app sweetheart. I like to be prepared, you know.”

Sukuna

↠ sukuna cannot stand when this time of the month rolls around

↠ he hates having to deal with your constant mood swings but he still tries his best to not catch an attitude with you

↠ this is the only time that he will ever allow you to boss him around, just for a little while

“RYOMEN!” you scream at the top of your lungs for the third time, growing increasingly impatient by the second. You’re laying in bed, cuddling up against your pillow as your face cringes in pain. Your cramps feel as though they’re getting worse by the second, annoying you to no end.

“What, woman.” Sukuna strolls into the room, chocolate covered strawberries in hand. “You wanted me to make these for you yet you’re rushing me back in here.” He places them down next to you, hand calmly rubbing your back. “What is it now?”

“Don’t talk to me like that, Ryo’.” You pout at him, “I feel like such a bother to you, do you hate me now?”

Sukuna rolls his eyes at your dramatic question, sighing in response. “I could never hate you. You’re my queen and I’ll do anything for you, no matter how bitchy you’re being.”

“I’m sorry,” you could feel yourself tearing up at the thought of being mean to your boyfriend, “I’m just in so much pain.”

“Shhh, just lay down and eat your strawberries.” Sukuna picks one up and guides it to your mouth as you take a bite. He reaches for the remote to turn on your favorite show before getting up to leave the room once again. “Just relax while I go get you some more water.”

“But, I want to cuddle” you request in a pleading tone, tilting your head to the side in persuasion as you tap the empty spot on the bed next to you.

“Fine, just don't complain that you're thirsty in two minutes."

Toji

↠ Toji has dealt with his fair share of girlfriends and periods

↠ This time of the month usually marks a very happy time for him as he realizes that you are in fact not pregnant

↠ Regardless of that, he ensures that you’re okay in the best way that he can

“I’m officially not pregnant!” You smile as you walk into the kitchen where Toji is cooking, walking up behind him to wrap your arms around his waist.

“Got your period huh? I’m actually a little disappointed.” Toji replies, putting a top over the rice that’s currently on the stove before turning around to face you. He gives you a kiss on your forehead before lifting you up on the counter.

“Oh please, all you tell me is how much you don’t want another kid, you should be celebrating.” You roll your eyes at your him, watching the smirk slowly creep up onto his face. His large hands grip your hips, massaging them firmly.

“From the way things went last time, I’m surprised that you don’t have a little one in there.” He smiles, placing a hand on your tummy.

“You gonna let me try again?”

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railingsofsorrow · 2 days

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stupid heart

summary: third and final installment of old habits

pairing: emily prentiss x f!bau!reader

warnings/content: reader is a Simp, emily is a Simp, they are Simps for each other; language; lots of yearning and eye contact; penelope being a matchmaker; bruises (mentioned); there is... fluff! I promise; paragraph in italics are memories.

A/N: here is the last part of old habits. i didn't know you guys would even like the first one tbh but I'm glad you asked for a part 2 because it was so fun to write this and make it a three-part mini-series. i hope you like the ending!

navi

masterpost

cm masterlist

[part 1] [part 2]

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you were on your lunch break when something vibrated and made you jump and hit your knee on your desk. you cursed rather loudly, attracting tara's attention to you as you held your leg with a painful groan.

“how's the desk?”

“fuck off.”

she laughed, shaking her head and going back to her own paperwork. when she saw the time though, she was the first to venture off to have lunch.

“are you staying the whole day sitting there? your butt will become a square.”

you sighed, scratching your brow. if you left now, you would never finish this on time. you weren't even sure if you would finish on time if you stayed now, but eh, it was what you had at the moment. you didn't want to leave paperwork hanging, it would pile up like today. that sucked.

“i'm good. bring me a muffin, though?” you knew she would have lunch in a restaurant nearby and your favorite bakery was side by side with it. “i'm craving something sweet.”

tara scoffed with a knowing look. “you're always craving something sweet, like a tiny ant.” she proceeded to ruffle your hair on her way out and you were about to tell her to fuck off again if your boss wasn't walking inside the bullpen as pretty as ever.

it was a relatively slow day at the bureau. you didn't have a case, which was rare, extremely rare and also extremely weird. slow days had pros and cons. one of the pros was that you could stay in the office without seeing any dead bodies and bloodied crime scenes for a change, one of the cons was that you had a ton of paperwork to fill out. it was boring. you moved to the kitchenette to get your fifth refill of coffee and then move back to your desk to drown yourself in filling out reports.

it was emily's day off. you vividly recall penelope making a bet on how many hours emily would handle being out of the office, she received a middle finger.

but here she was, and penelope was right.

“hey, is there still a lot of those for you to finish?” she threw the question on her way to her office, switching her briefcase to her right hand to inspect the pile of manila folders with the other.

emily was wearing a well-fitted black suit, a white shirt beneath it, and black trousers. black looked good on her. or any color for that matter. but emily's all-black outfits made you enter in cardiac arrest back in the day.

who are you kidding? they still do.

“yes,” you leaned back in your chair, fiddling with your pen as you gazed up at her curiously. “isn't today supposed to be your day off?”

“no, that's next week.” it's like the lie was waiting to come out. she grabbed at least ten files from your pile and gave you a wink before walking away. “i can help with that.”

“you—hey!” you whispered-yelled, stumbling after her into her office. “you can't just take this.” you scolded her with a shake of your head, attempting to grab the files back. “it's your day off, emily. go home.” it was not next week. her day off was today, you knew it was. she always did that as an excuse to come in to work and do something. emily prentiss was restless, but she couldn't just take your heavy workload if she had one of her own.

“i'm not going home.” she dropped her briefcase on the couch inside her office, closing the door before she circled around her desk and sat down. “i have spare time, so leave these here.”

you pointed at the files on her desk, “are those your spare time?”

“it's less than yours.” she rested her chin on the back of her hand, lips' corners lifting slightly.

you sighed halfheartedly, “that's because I let it pile up through the weeks.”

“give me half then,” she placed her hand on top of the files before you could drag it away and ran off from her office.

you stared at her hand on top of yours for a hot minute until you got out of your daze and dropped at least three files on top of hers, glancing up at her with your brow raised.

“you get three if you promise to not come in tomorrow and get some rest.”

her lips stretched into a smirk as she leaned back on her chair, fingertips tapping against her laptop. she gazed up at you, a challenging glint in her eyes that you wouldn't fall for. this was you negotiating and she never won a negotiation with you. not when you were right, at least.

emily rolled her eyes with a huff, “fine.” she said, playfully glaring at you as you grinned in victory with your files back in your hand.

she enjoyed this dynamic. it almost felt as if the two of you were back to normal. the teasing. the playful annoyance. the excuses to be around one another — that part was entirely emily's fault and she didn't regret it.

she knew you wouldn't let her take half of your workload with her just like that. she might have lost a few points in the bargaining, but she earned a lot of joy in seeing your satisfied smile as you left her office with a slightly less bigger pile of reports.

as you dropped the files on your desk, you notice your hands were cramping, begging for you to take a break and you decided to do exactly that. you had been up since 8 am working non-stop, you deserved a little break, didn't you? and a coffee refill.

your desk began to vibrate and you hit your knee against the hardwood, again. which made remember you have a phone and said phone was responsible for all the purple bruises you'll have on your knee. you yanked the drawer open with a low curse and grabbed your cell phone, not looking at the caller ID as you picked up the call.

"what." jj looked up from her computer screen with an amused expression upon hearing your short tone. you walked into the kitchenette when the person's voice echoed through your ear while they pretended to be offended.

"is that your way of saying you miss me?" spencer mumbled into the phone. you rolled your eyes while making another coffee pot. "hello to you too."

"did you call before? you made me hit my knee twice, it hurt like a bitch."

"how would I have made you hit your knee twice if I'm two hours and 1,051 miles away from you?"

you let out a sigh, a smile creeping up on your lips at your best friend calling you. "hello, spencer. how's the honeymoon going?"

you could see him scrunching his nose as he replied, "we're not married, it's not a honeymoon."

"you're visiting his family, you might as well be married."

he paused, stuttering a bit before he admitted something that made you squeak in delight in the kitchenette. rossi blinked at you as he poured himself a cup of coffee. you waited until he left the room to throw all your questions at spencer.

"he proposed?!"

"yes," spencer said, probably flushing red in the other side. you wish you could just tackle him into a hug and tell him how happy you were for him. ethan, spencer's boyfriend (now fiancée), was so in love with him, you knew it was only a matter of time that they tie the knot. after what your best friend went through while working at the BAU, he of all people deserved to be happy. "last night, actually."

“okay,” you held yourself back from acting like a teenager wanting to hear about the newest gossip. “okay, so, I'm not going to ask what I need to ask now because you're going to tell me everything when you come back to virginia. when do you come back to virginia?”

“saturday. we're spending the rest of the week here.”

“good.” you smiled. “that's so good. spencer?”

“yeah?”

“i am so happy for you. both of you. congratulations!”

“thank you.” he chuckled. “i'll tell you everything you want to know when I get back, okay?” you hum in agreement. “how was your date?”

your nose scrunched as hot coffee burned your tongue, “what date?” you got distracted putting sugar in your coffee.

“the one last week? with dahlia stanford?” spencer clarified confusedly. “did you not go?”

oh. that date.

right.

“no, I- I did go,” you uttered quietly.

the thing was: you hated it. you tried not to because dahlia was sweet and kind and she was even funny during five minute of conversation. but then the topic only remained on her and how she loved high school and wished she could go back because it was the best time of her life, and oh! she was her mom's favorite daughter— there was never a breach for you to talk about you.

it got tiring quickly. you were slightly annoyed and sad at the end of the night. annoyed because of the date and sad because, well, it was starting to be hopeless for you.

you didn't had a lot of dates after your break up with emily. six months was too soon for you so you respected your time until hannah from HR asked you out for coffee and you ghosted her. timothy, a lead detective on a local case, took you to a museum and it was fun but you ghosted him too. and dahlia, from sex crimes, whom you invited to have dinner but it was the most boring evening of your life.

maybe you were fated to be alone and you needed to accept that.

“you don't want to talk about it, do you?” you were glad to have known spencer for a long time so he understood your silence through the phone. “how's everything there? is everyone okay? paperwork piling up again?”

you scoffed annoyed, “yeah, easy for you to say. yours never piled up. give me your brain and it won't happen.”

“that's not physically possible.” he snickered at your jab.

“everyone's fine. we didn't have a case today so it's slow.”

“how are you and emily?”

your back straightened as you almost spilled the coffee on the floor. you cleared your throat, eyeing the door for any possible newcomers.

“fine? why would you ask that.”

spencer hummed, “because you were giving each other the silent treatment last time I asked and I had to hear it from garcia.”

“yeah, well, penelope's a snitch and me and emily are fine.” you placed your mug on the counter, munching on your lower lip thoughtfully. “we're friends.”

“oh?” spencer's mocked surprised tone made your brows furrow a little in suspicion. “that's an improvement.”

“why do you sound as if you knew more than I'm letting on?”

you heard muffled voices in the background on his end and he replied to someone else before coming back to you. “i don't know anything. I have no idea.”

“you're a shitty liar, reid.”

“look, I have to go. ethan is taking me somewhere I have no idea— he's saying hi— but I'll call you back, okay?”

“hi ethan,” you said with a little smile. “yeah, okay, have fun, lovebirds. don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

spencer called your name before hanging up.

“yeah?” you said, moving towards the bullpen in direction of your desk. you had a good break, it was time to head back to work.

“give your heart a chance. it's worth it. trust me with this, okay? goodbye.”

you froze as you were about to sit down. you didn't get a chance of answering him before he hung up on you and what exactly were you even going to say? spencer reid and his fucking unwarranted advice to mess with your head.

you only realized your eyes were lingering on the windows of the office above the stairs when the door opened and the unit chief walked out, her gaze locking into yours until you quickly diverted yours to your desk.

“hi again.” emily greeted you, leaning her hip against your desk.

“hey,” you looked up as you opened another file. one less to go. you saw something in her hand and glimpsed at it curiously. “what's that?”

“that's alright, em.” you smiled softly. “thank you for safekeeping it.”

“tara said you were craving something sweet and left this for you.” a small package was placed beside your files. you stared at the package and looked up at her, confused. if the package was for you then why was it with emily?

she seemed to grasp your train of thought, a rosy tint reaching her cheeks. your whole demeanor softened at her obvious embarrassment. “you weren't here, so she, mhm, she left it in my office so I could give it to you when you came back—”

“sure. it was my pleasure.” emily was about to combust from awkwardness, was that possible?

she said your name and you stopped in the middle of opening the package to glance up at her. she pulled up a chair so both of you were at eye-level now.

“i have a proposition for you.”

you bit the straw of your milkshake, quickly writing down the last pieces of information on the report so you could finally be free to go home and have some sleep. the last case wiped you out. “i don't have time to bury a body now, if you just wait for five more minutes...”

“I-what?” emily let out a dumbfounded laugh. “why is that the first thing that comes to your mind when I say I have a proposition?” your mouth stretched into a convinced smile, your eyes drifted to hers for a second before they go back to your messy handwriting. you were almost done.

“because I would. bury a body for you. you're too pretty to go to jail.” you finished your chocolate milkshake and left the plastic cup aside.

emily tapped her fingers on your desk, shaking her head at you in disapproval to which you grinned in response.

“i hate it when you do that.”

you blinked innocently. “do what?”

she lowered her face closer to yours and you couldn't help but stare down at her lips. “flirt with me while we're at work because you know I can't do anything about it.”

“mhm, then tell me the proposition, prentiss. I don't have all day.”

“go on a date with me.”

“i won't give you anymore reports.” you clicked your pen once, twice, as if this would expel the memory that just traveled through your mind.

emily looked down at the manila folders in your desk, they were halfway through. “i could finish all of those today.”

“right, let's not kid ourselves here, baby. we don't have the same reading speed as spencer reid.”

you had the privilege of seeing her dimpled smile and for moment your brain stopped working.

“what?”

you called me baby. I missed that.

“nothing.” she said, looking away. “about the proposition. there will be a lyrid meteor shower friday night and I was thinking about going to the observatory park in great falls. it's one of the best places to watch the night sky.” emily paused, leaving you anxiously waiting. “do you— would you like to come with me?” and she quickly added, much to your dismay. “as friends, of course.” you observed her fidget with your pen before she carried on.

why did you feel so disappointed? it was what you wanted, right? to be friends with emily, it was at least a start to rekindle your friendship of years. it was the right thing to do.

was it normal to also find your friend the most beautiful woman on earth and try so hard to not kiss her at any given moment?

you didn't think so.

“okay.”

emily blinked at you, stunned. “okay?”

you give her an amused smile, “yes, okay, em. we can go watch the meteor shower together. as friends.”

her smile fell a little, “right. yes. that's great. so I'll pick you up around 8, is that good for you?”

you nodded in agreement, “sure.” there was an awkward silence as both of you tried to find any other topic to talk about but you were too nervous with going somewhere with her just the two of you and she was incredibly awkward at the failed attempt for asking you out on a date. “emily?” you blurted out while standing up before she could leave. “i did went on a date, but I'm not going on another one.” you mumbled a curse under your breath. “i meant that it didn't work out.” jesus, was that hard to say?!

“oh.” emily muttered, eyes traveling across your face, seeking any form of sadness over the fact that it didn't work out between you and whoever you went on a date with. okay, she knew who it was and even which department the person, dahlia?, worked in. perks of having penelope garcia as your technical analyst and honorary hacker. “i'm sorry.”

no, she wasn't the slightest bit sorry.

you let a choked-up laugh escape and you were fast to cover your mouth. emily's gaze brightened up at that. she made you laugh. this day couldn't get any better.

“you do look very sorry, em.”

she groaned with a roll of eyes. “hey, I am, okay? if you really liked her, so...”

your eyes narrowed at her. you slowly stepped towards her, arms crossing over your chest. tilting your head, you said, “her? I never told you it was a her.” you knew you caught her when her lips parted and she just clipped her mouth shut after being out of bullshit to throw at you. “penelope.”

it wasn't a question.

emily's expression twitched in a guilty grimace and she feared this might just have ruined her plans to get you back. fuck.

what could she do? she wasn't capable of lying to you.

you raised a hand, cutting her off. “i'm not mad. it's fine.”

emily sighed in relief, “really?”

“yeah.” you gave her an eye roll, shaking your head but your lips betrayed you by lifting its corners as you went back to your chair and dropped down on the seat.

emily munched on her upper lip, gathering her strength to just walk off and accept things as they were because you have to let time do its magic— god, she couldn't fucking do it. thanks, penelope, for your amazing advice but I am a restless woman.

“and what if I don't want this to be a friendly hangout?” you gasped in surprise as she reappeared beside you, drawing her chair closer, bumping with the arms of your chair. “would it be a stretch to say that I want it to be a date?"

emily's really pushing her luck here.

"emily-" you croaked out, your voice suddenly rough, but she cut you off by grabbing your wrist tenderly.

"I know I messed up. and I know I betrayed your trust which is something I'd never ever do it intentionally because I lo- because I care so deeply about you," emily admitted all of that, apparently forgetting you were in the middle of the bullpen. something you also didn't notice. "so just give me this chance, this one date. If you say no I'll completely understand, hell I'm probably being extremely pushy right now-"

"emily." you tugged at her hand, jerking your head in the direction of her office so she could follow you there. you pulled her inside the room, closing the door by resting your back against it. you were finally away from prying eyes. "will you let me talk now?"

she felt her cheeks warming up in shame.

you took a step towards your ex-girlfriend, not believing what you were about to say because she was, well, your ex-girlfriend. and you're not supposed to say yes to a date with your ex when you're trying to get over them.

"you're not being pushy. I was actually kind of hoping this would be a date until you said as friends." she mentally kicked herself at her doings. "I care about you too, okay? I can't just not care, emily." your shoulders slumped as you exhaled slowly. "so yes, this can be a date. and we can see how it goes from there."

emily wanted to kiss you so bad right now and she wanted to cry at the same time. this meant you were giving her a chance, that you wanted to try as much as she did even if she didn't think she deserved it that much. but she wouldn't disappoint you this time.

"you won't regret it." you hummed with a soft smile, messing with her fingers and then letting it go.

"okay, boss. now, can I go back to work or will you keep me from my duties any longer?"

"I'm debating that."

you gave her a look, to which she grinned causing your heart to beat insanely fast inside your ribcage. you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to look away. how could you be just friends with emily prentiss? that just wasn't possible.

as a close friend of yours said once, you'd give your heart a chance. maybe it would be worth the risk.

"I hate you," you mumbled while holding back a smile as you opened the door to leave her office. it was time to get back to work, for real this time.

you could hear the smug smile in her voice. “no you don't. ”

“no, I don't,” you confessed quietly to yourself.

and for that, you blamed your stupid heart.

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taglist: @ravensbug ; @lez-talk1 ; @chiefemilyprentiss ; @snoopyaah

#criminal minds fanfiction #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss fanfic #lesbian emily prentiss #criminal minds #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss x you

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chaos-in-deepspace · 1 day

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LNDS: Bongo Butts | 18+

I should be going to bed but I forgot to do laundry so here I am, writing more content that nobody asked for. Just like motorboating them...when I see them butts. Just. WHAM BAM. Thanks for coming to my TED talk. Also hope you know I had to research different types of dump trucks for this fic.

Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+. Warnings: Ass Slapping, Crack Fic, Playing their asses like they're bongos, Zayne's lost sanity, Rafayel is scandalized as per usual, you mentally scar Raf, Xavier is confused as per usual, but is he confused?, he does get you back tho

Blog Information | Masterlist

Xavier

Xavier really did need to be more careful around you. He was the one who wanted you to date him first, in your defense. He chose you. And you wouldn't let a single day go by that you didn't prove why that was a horrible decision on his end. At the very least, he could claim that he was never bored with you around.

Today was supposed to be a lazy day. You two had off from all missions and were relaxing around the apartment since it was too damn hot to actually go outside. It also happened to be laundry day for Xavier, so he was dressed in his workout attire while his uniforms were being deep cleaned from all the dirt that accumulated on them during his missions.

Those shorts. They were so damn short. You'd even call it slutty because hot damn. His ass was just right there. It was staring at you. Hypnotizing you like it was a snake charmer. Your hands were already twitching in a grabby motion as you stared directly at those perfectly rounded globes on his backside. His beautiful bubble butt.

Xavier could feel your stare burning into him as he looked over his shoulder. He was just sun bathing by the window, laying on his stomach. So vulnerable to your upcoming attack.

"Something you need?" Damn, he already sounded suspicious. It might've been by how you were practically drooling with your hands up, ready to grab at him. It was a slight give away. He should've been more prepared though, because you lunged at him in that moment.

He only had time to turn slightly when you pushed him back on his stomach, sitting on his back to pin him down. Your hands took a fistful of his ass before you began hitting them with little force. Just watching them jiggle with every little slap of your hands.

You were cackling like a maniac as you continued your assault until he managed to maneuver you off of him. You were laughing, your cheeks flushed as you almost teared up. His entire face was red as he stared at you in horror. Then you saw a flash in his eyes and you knew you were done for.

He grabbed you, pulling you onto his lap. Then you felt a harsh slap at your ass, making you squeal. It was so much rougher than you had hit him. He stared at your back side and did it again.

"I can see why you found this so entertaining. I think I'll play with this for now."

"Unhand me you creatine!"

"I think not, if I let you go, who knows what else you'll do to me."

Zayne

Anyone who has ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on Akso's best Cardiac Surgeon knew that one thing was a pure fact. He had an ass. His doctor's coat did a good job concealing it, but he couldn't wear it all the time. You had even noticed a few nurses who would glance down at him when he passed them in the hallway.

It was something you knew very well about Zayne, and something the man seemed oblivious to. The man didn't just have a dump truck as a rear end, it was a dump trailer. That shit could keep a family fed for an entire year. It was so perfect in every way. You could grab onto one cheek with both hands and you still wouldn't be able to capture the entire thing.

Yet for some reason, Zayne had no idea just how badly you needed his ass. You would often times find yourself staring at it when you hung out, had an appointment, or were just lounging at the apartments. It plagued your thoughts. You were losing sleep over this. It wasn't good for your health.

"Zayne..." You said as you relaxed on the couch next to him. You two were catching up on a TV show that you started well over a month ago but hadn't had time to really enjoy it.

"Yes, did you need something?" Oh how sweet he was, always looking out for you.

"Yes actually...can you lay down on your stomach for me? I wanna do something." You said, knowing that this man would do just about anything you asked. He eyed you for a moment, contemplating if he wanted to play this game with you.

"Might I inquire as to why?"

"That's for me to know, and you to find out."

Zayne took one more moment before giving in. He adjusted his position, laying down on his stomach just as you had asked. You decided to be subtle, leaning over his form and placing your hands on his shoulders at first. You gently caressed the skin there, massaging the muscles through his shirt as you slowly made your way down to the small of his back.

There it was. The prize. The holy grail of all asses. It was ripe for the taking as you looked over to see Zayne's closed eyes as he relaxed under your touch. You didn't hesitate. Your hands slapping down on his ass and grabbing it roughly.

His eyes shot open as he looked over at you. You licked your lips as you began gently slapping the flesh, watching the bounce as though it were made of jelly. It was a sight to behold and you couldn't help yourself. You had seconds before Zayne reacted and pulled your grubby little hands off him.

So you leaned your head in and bit down. His pants managed to cushion him from the force of your bite, but he sure as hell felt it. He sat up and grabbed you under the arms like a cat, stopping you in your tracks as you stared at him.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Playing with your nice ass."

"My butt is not a play thing."

You paused for a moment, eyes trailing down to the front of his pants, "If you aren't gonna let me slap your ass, can I play with your dick like it's a Bop-It?"

You watched Zayne go through five stages of grief. He sighed as he grabbed a blanket next to him, wrapping your entire body like a burrito so your limbs were no longer effective. He then sat back down on the couch with his legs open and placed you between, holding you tightly to his chest.

"I'm begging you, please be quiet for once and let's finish this show."

Rafayel

He should've known you were up to something if your gaze was anything to go off of. You had zeroed in on him the moment you had come over. Even during your little date as you two explored Linkon together, he knew something was up. Your not so subtle glances in his direction couldn't be considered innocent.

If only he knew why you were staring so hardcore. He had gotten a new pair of pants, or at least you assumed they were new. You were pretty sure you'd remember them with how good he looked at the moment. It was tight on him, accentuating his ass perfectly. You were pretty sure if you riled him it would also perfectly outline another aspect of him.

Still, you had a mission. Rafayel didn't know it yet, but the moment you had caught a glimpse of him this morning, you knew what had to be done. His muffins needed to be squished. His plump little cushions had to be properly admired and worshipped. You would be the one to happily give them the attention they deserved. An ass sculpted by the gods themselves were staring at you literally all day.

You closed the door to his home slowly, turning over to him. He was already heading to the living room. You slowly stalked behind him, and he could feel you were up to no good.

"Something caught your interest? I know I look good, but not even you normally stare at me this much."

"I just think you look particularly handsome today is all." As does his ass. You couldn't say that yet though, he would realize what your plans were if you verbalized it too early. Like a cat stalking a mouse, you followed him until he was in the living room. The moment he was by the couch you took action.

You rushed behind him and pressed down on the small of his back, making him stumble forward. He grabbed the edge of the couch, his body hunched over. Rafayel turned just in time to watch you drop down to your knees. Then he felt your hands harshly gripping his ass. Then the quick slaps in succession followed as you began laughing maniacally.

"Finally!" You said as you grabbed at them again. Rafayel finally reacted, rolling onto the couch to get away from your hands. You were practically panting as your hands twitched, "Come on Raf, lemme just squeeze em again."

"You are a psychopath." He said, hiding his ass from your view.

"I'm your psychopath though." Despite how horrified Rafayel looked, he was also amused by your antics. He grabbed at your arm, making you fall forward and your chest pressing against his own. His hands went to grab at your ass this time, squeezing them and laughing.

"You know, I think I'm seeing the appeal of this." He commented, his hands lazily hitting your ass cheeks like you had to him, although he was far more calm about it.

"See, it's amazing...now can I go back to playing with your butt? I wasn't done yet."

"I think not...although this has given me an idea. Do you mind if I paint your backside?"

"You wanna paint on my ass?"

"Perhaps."

"...I'll agree if you let me eat your-" Rafayel had never cut you off so quickly.

"Never mind."

The most accurate representation of what we're doing to these poor men. I will not be silenced. Their asses need to be slapped. And ate

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eddiemunsonstan · 1 day

Text

Don't Give up

!EddieMunson x !PregnantReader

Summary:You and Eddie have been married for 3 years and you are 7 months pregnant.Your disagreements have been growing for the past few months.

Warnings:pregnancy,angst,violent anger,danger of miscarriage,toxic relationship,Eddie calls the reader bitch

𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐

You haven't had any problems since you got married. But 2 years later,Eddie and his band had their new album project. That's why you were arguing so often.You were pregnant for 7 and you were having a difficult pregnancy. You were in more pain than a normal pregnant woman and you were going to the doctor frequently.

Around 10pm,while you were eating in the kitchen,you heard the sound of the door opening and ran towards the door and hugged Eddie's neck. Eddie laughed as you hugged him and placed a long kiss on your cheek "My love.." he looked at you and noticed the pizza slice in your hand "Did you come without leaving that slice?" You took another bite of your pizza as Eddie laughed at you "But I'm so hungry…" you said,Eddie kissed you again and then leaned down slightly and placed a long kiss on your belly "My beautiful girls, I missed you so much." you smiled "We missed you so much too,are you hungry?" Eddie shook his head "Nah,but I'm so tired" Eddie followed you as you walked into the kitchen and you leaned back against the counter "How did it go?" Eddie shrugged and took off his jacket as he said "It was good,it's almost over." While Eddie was talking,you handed him the pizza slice in your hand and he took a bite "I did yoga today,to help with the pain." Eddie swallowed "You're feeling better,aren't you?" he smiled as you nodded “That's all I want.” You exhaled deeply "I'm full,but I want to keep eating."

"Eat all you want darling" he chuckled.When you looked at him, you noticed that his ring wasn't on his finger and you frowned "Where is your ring?" Eddie paused and reflexively looked at his hand "Oh,I must have left it at the studio,I'll pick it up tomorrow." This was really getting on your nerves,he was doing this all the time "Why are you even taking off your ring?" Eddie looked at you. “It bothers me while playing the guitar and I take it off,I said I'll pick it up tomorrow.” You looked at Eddie for a few seconds. This was makingnyou upset "Always the same thing" Eddie looked at you "I beg your pardon?" You looked at Eddie and continued angrily "I said it's always the same thing,just taking it off and putting it on all the time makes it an accessory,not a wedding ring,Eddie." Eddie took a deep breath,he hated fighting especially when he was tired "Are you really going to turn this into an argument?Because I have no mood for it." You laughed nervously "Of course,it's such an unimportant issue, why are we talking about it?". Eddie insisted on not caring about you. You couldn't even get a proper answer to what you said "Maybe I shouldn't wear my ring when I go back to work, around other male employees."

Eddie turned to you "What is this now? What does it have to do with a man, do you think I'm hiding the fact that I'm married?". You crossed your arms "It's not nice not to wear your ring when there's a girl called Amy." Amy was a girl who worked at the studio and it was obvious that she liked Eddie, but Eddie kept denying it.Eddie laughed angrily "Please don't start again" you shouted angrily "So I'm starting?!" Eddie looked at you and tried to stay calm “Keep your voice down” “Or what?” Eddie looked at you "I'm not threatening you,talk to me properly and act normal" You laughed sarcastically "Yes,I'm the one who's not acting normally, what you're doing is normal,right Eddie? You know what,you're so selfish that you can't even see where your mistake is." Eddie looked at you "Am I selfish? When I don't even have time to sleep I just try to take care of you but all I get is your anger. You're the real selfish one!". When Eddie raised his voice,you pushed him away from you “I'm carrying your child,is it that hard to give little attention?Don't you ever raise your voice at me!".

"I've been working for hours and this is what I get.It's just a fucking ring.Why are you so being a bitch about it?!"

You paused at what Eddie said. You couldn't say anything,when Eddie realized what he said,the anger disappeared from his eyes and he closed his eyes "Fuck" You didn't know what to say or even what to do. You felt and heard your heart breaking into thousands pieces. There was a painful feeling in your throat. Your eyes were filled with tears and you couldn't stop it. Without saying anything,you left the kitchen and walked towards the stairs. He didn't even say anything behind your back. As you were at the stairs,you started crying and wiped your eyes. You slammed the bedroom door and the sound echoed down the hall. Eddie covered his face with his hands and started swearing at himself out of anger.He always reflected his work stress on you and blamed himself for not knowing how to treat his pregnant wife,and even sometimes he blamed you for not being able to handle the burden. His ego did not allow this,or the fact that he only makes upset the woman he loved,made him feel inadequate. Hours passed and you fell asleep cryingby yourself. Eddie's anger issues were destroying you. Your pregnancy was very stressful and it was harming the baby. Even though it was hard to accept and express,sometimes you regretted being pregnant. It was a terrible feeling,but it was because of your constant fights. How long was this going to continue? Was your little baby going to be traumatized because of you? You were turning into people just like your and Eddie's parents and it scared you so much.

After sleeping in tears at night,you woke up in the morning. It was only you in the bed,Eddie wasn't there. You slowly got out of bed and went downstairs. Eddie was sleeping on the couch.You watched him for a few seconds and then went back upstairs and started filling the bathtub with hot water. You were trying hard not to cry while getting ready. You had no choice but to take a hot bath because nothing made you feel good,the stress you were feeling was making your head ache and your stomach was nauseous. You looked at yourself in the mirror,you were tired and exhausted. You closed your eyes as you felt dizziness "Fuck" the nausea in your stomach was increasing and you felt like you were going to pass out,but at the same time it hurt. You leaned against the sink counter and started taking deep breaths. This was different from the pain you often had throughout your pregnancy,it really hurt. A few seconds later,you opened your eyes as you felt wetness between your legs. Your white nightgown was stained with blood. You touched between your legs,you were dripping blood. You held your belly in fear,you were struggling even standing and held on to the counter again. After a few seconds, the weight on your body increased and you fell to the ground. As you fell,the glass soap dispenser on the counter fell to the floor and the loud sound echoed in the bathroom. Eddie woke up with a start from the sound he heard and looked around for a few seconds. The pain had increased so much that you started moaning and screaming in pain.

Eddie jumped out of bed worriedly of your voice "Sweetheart?" by the time he got to the stairs,so many scenarios had come to his mind. You were crying in pain and fear,you still felt like you were going to faint. This could have been from the miscarriage or from a panic attack. All you thought about was your baby.Eddie looked at you in horror when he entered the bathroom. You were bleeding on the ground,crying in pain,broken glass pieces on the ground. Eddie didn't know what to do. He quickly bent down and put his hand on your cheek. "Baby, look at me,look at me." You were having trouble keeping your eyes open,you couldn't even understand what Eddie was saying. Now your moans of pain had decreased,which was a sign that the baby might be dead. Eddie started slapping your cheek "Don't!Do not fucking close your eyes Y/N!".

When you opened your eyes,you were in the hospital room. Even though you couldn't remember exactly what happened,your hand immediately went to your belly,to your baby. Eddie,was waiting next to you,he stood up quickly "Baby, are you okay?"his eyes started to fill with tears again and he quickly placed a long kiss on your forehead "You scared me so much." you weren't angry at Eddie,your heart was more hurt than ever and you turned your head towards the window. This movement moved Eddie's lips away from your forehead. Eddie quickly sat on the edge of the bed and took your hand "My love,please look at me." you turned to Eddie with your watery eyes. Even though you didn't say anything,Eddie understood you very well,your looks and tears told everything. Eddie looked at you with his eyes filled with tears “I'm sorry, for everything. I know I'm a terrible husband and-” Before Eddie could stand it any longer,he started crying again “Fuck..I'm sorry, I didn't mean for things to turn out this way.”."Bu it did" as you said this,another tear flowed from your eye. Eddie was ashamed of himself as when he was looking at you. He kissed your hand while he was still holding and looked at you "I promise, I will never make the same mistakes from now on." You looked at Eddie for a few seconds and pulled your hand back "I want to talk to the doctor."

You were both fine now, if you hadn't come to the hospital on time, your baby would have died. You had to be under surveillance for the next two months. When you got home you went straight to the bedroom and Eddie followed you. He wanted to talk to you but you were packing your suitcase. Eddie frowned "What are you doing?" . You didn't even look at him "Going". Eddie was confused "Where?". Yeah,where? Even you didn't know that because you had no one to go. The only person you had in this world was Eddie,and you didn't feel safe and happy around him anymore. At the same time, you didn't even have a parent to take refuge in. You looked at Eddie "Anywhere is better than this house." It hurt to say this, the house that you and Eddie had dreamed of since you were teenagers and that you had bought with the money you had worked for years together was now a place full of heartbreak for you. Eddie looked at you "Darling,please let's talk." You laughed sarcastically "I think we shouldn't talk because I'm being a bitch about everything." Your voice was shaking as you spoke and you felt like you were about to cry. Eddie closed his eyes "Please don't do this to me. I'm sorry, blame me for what I've done all you want, but please. Please don't go." You looked at Eddie for a few seconds and covered your face with your hands,tried to stay calm but failed "It's not fair!" you almost screamed "I devoted everything to you, I did everything for you but you only cause heartbreak. I don't even know if you love me anymore!" Eddie quickly grabbed your hands "Don't say that, I love you. I love you more than anything." You pushed Eddie "Stop lying to me! This is not love,no one does this to the woman they love." You started sobbing and covered your face with your hands. Eddie was crying quietly. When he approached you,you started hitting his chest and trying to push him away from you. The hits hurt,but he didn't care. He hugged you tightly and caressed your hair "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…You're the only thing I want, you're the only thing I need Y/N". You give up and let him hug you. You closed your eyes and kept crying. You couldn't stay away from him because he was all you had, only he could heal your heartbreak and the wound inside you. You loved him more than your own pride.

𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐𖤐

Let me know if you want to be in the tag list<3

#eddie munson #joseph quinn #stranger things #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson x reader #stranger things fic #80s #eddiemunsonx #stranger things x reader #eddie munson headcanons #eddiemunson #eddie munson hurt/comfort

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theladyofbloodshed · 2 days

Text

Who We Could Have Been - A Mor & Nesta friendship

A little one-shot set during the first week when Nesta is in Velaris after entering the Cauldron. It shows the Mor that I wished we saw, the care that I wished Nesta received, and a friendship that was never allowed to grow <3

It scratched at the windowsill, a never ending scrape-scrape. Nesta pulled the pillow over her head, wishing the bird would make the dive from its nest and splatter below rather than having to endure another moment of it thrashing and cheeping from the nest. Even the feathers in the pillow were too loud to her ears, the scrunch of the sheets too much. She took a respite in the bathroom, glad for the cool water that she splashed on her face and neck.

Velaris was a hell. Being fae was a nightmare. Her body was alien to her, the movements foreign and lumbering like a newborn lamb. Nesta moved quicker now as evidenced by the number of times she’d overbalanced with her steps. It was not only speed. Her body was stronger. The soaked nightgown that she’d been brought here in had ripped in two when she tried to pull it off her body, so she’d been left naked and crying in the bedroom whilst searching for the promised robes that were within.

Maybe another might be glad for the speed and strength, but Nesta hated it. Her senses were amplified; the colours brighter, her hearing tuning in to every slight sound, she could smell when one of them was cooking at the other end of the house – and that always had a far richer taste than she was used to. For the first couple of days, all Nesta could stomach was dry toast. It was all too rich, too heavy for her new-found palette.

A soft knock at the door came as it did every morning around this time. The others left them alone, which Nesta was glad for. Hopefully, the blonde one would get the hint soon enough.

Morrigan never did.

The key in the door was useless because she used her magic to turn it back around, so Nesta had to wonder why they even bothered with locks in Prythian if people came and went as they pleased.

‘Good morning. How do you feel today?’

Nesta pressed her hands to her temples, the noise shooting through her.

‘Do you have a headache again?’ Mor took a step forwards. She tilted her head so blonde hair cascaded across her face. ‘Shall I send for Madja?’

‘I do not want that woman anywhere near me,’ declared Nesta.

That rotten healer had smiled at her and said everything was perfect. It was not perfect. It was far from perfect. It was long limbs and pointed ears and everything too damn loud.

She clutched her head, voice rising, ‘Will that bird leap to its death or leave me the hell alone?’

Morrigan’s eyes widened then she held up a finger. ‘One moment.’

While she departed, Nesta perched on a sliver of the mattress. Buried beneath layers of blankets, despite the warm spring morning, Elain slept soundly. She reminded Nesta of a girl from a story who pricked her finger and slept for a thousand years. To the fae, that was probably nothing. A blink of an eye and they welcomed a new millennium. She ran a hand against Elain’s face then shivered at the sound of her hair sliding over itself.

‘Ta-da!’

Mor held out a mass of fluffy, white fur.

‘What am I meant to do with that?’

The woman had no bearings on propriety. She crowded Nesta’s space as she placed the two balls of fur against her ears. Her fingers were warm on the points of Nesta’s ears, but she still felt revulsed by somebody touching them. They were a reminder of what she was.

When Morrigan stepped away, it was… better. The sound was muffled. Less intense.

‘Ear muffs! I forgot to give them back to Viviane last time I visited her, but if they work then they work.’

Nesta could finally breathe. The brightness and taste, she could manage. The bombardment of sound had been a constant battle that had been wearing her down.

‘Does that feel better, Nesta?’

She didn’t know why but she felt heat building in her face as tears prickled her eyes. ‘Yes.’

Mor touched her hand. ‘This is new ground for us too. We don’t know the ways in which you’re struggling so I’ll need you to be vocal.’ Her fingers slipped into Nesta’s. ‘You're not a burden for telling us what you need. I know it’s scary. I can’t imagine how you feel. But I’m here. We are all here for you – and Elain – for as long as it takes.’

The final portion of the dam collapsed and a flood of tears broke through. She was not one for weeping or embraces. Tears were to be briefly shed alone then forgotten about. Servants were forbidden from coddling them – and her mother was not the sort to do it either. Yet, when Mor instinctively moved forwards and wrapped her arms around Nesta, she was so grateful for that touch. To not be the one having to hold it all together. To have a moment where she didn’t need to worry about Elain.

‘Let’s go for a chat,’ the woman said against her cheek.

‘Elain,’ began Nesta.

‘Elain is asleep. We won’t be far.’

It was against her better judgement, but Nesta followed. In the week since they had been taken from their beds, Nesta had barely seen beyond the four walls of the bedroom. She’d cloistered herself in there, unable to take any more change. It was a prison. A prison to fester.

‘We’re quite high up in the house, so we won’t winnow yet if the noise is too much. Velaris can be… loud,’ she said, smiling brightly. ‘Do you paint like Feyre?’

‘No.’

‘A shame,’ said Mor as they walked through a red-walled corridor with brightly coloured rugs strewn about haphazardly as if they had too many that they didn’t know what to do with them. ‘Velaris is known for its artists’ quarter. We’ve got lots of markets too if you’re a food lover.’

Disappointment grew in her. ‘Not particularly.’

‘No matter. What do you like to do, Nesta?’

Upset my sisters. Ruin my future.

‘Read.’

Could nothing dim Morrigan’s cheery disposition? Her eyes had blown wide with delight. ‘Oh, do I have the perfect place. Wait. Maybe not today,’ she pondered aloud. ‘Lots of priestesses. Lots of noise. But,’ Mor took her by the hand like she was a child’s plaything. ‘Yes! Let’s go.’

Nesta tried not to frown as she was tugged along the corridor then down a set of steps. Something sweet was baking in the oven, the smell wafting towards them. But it was not the kitchen that Mor towed her towards. They reached a set of double doors where Mor gave her a knowing look.

‘Behold,’ she whispered, pushing open a door.

Rows and rows of books filled her vision. It was a library. A personal library stacked with shelves, each one begging Nesta to run her eyes along it and choose a title.

She moved to take a step then held herself back.

‘It’s okay,’ Mor reassured her, touching her arm. ‘Go in. Have a look. Take as much time as you need. I need to get something – unless you want me to stay?’

‘I can be alone,’ Nesta replied.

The library was warm with wedges of sunlight pouring in through the tall windows. The books in its path had spines damaged by sunlight so the leather was fading. Nesta stood in the light, letting it soak into her bones. Her finger trailed along one shelf, tracking each book and wondering which to read. There were sections on the arts, history, geography, poetry, foreign books – and even a whole section dedicated to fiction. Father always said it was a waste of time. Nothing could be learnt from a story. Mother despised reading entirely.

Why must your head be filled with words? A husband will not take to being outwitted by his wife.

Their scoldings could never staunch her desire. Nesta had read in secret, had stolen books from father’s collection at night and returned them in the morning. She’d begged the housekeeper to buy her them and she’d find the money from somewhere.

When Nesta was already a chapter deep into a heavy, ancient book about the history of the Night Court, Morrigan returned.

‘I bring snacks,’ she announced.

A handful of cakes had been artfully arranged on a plate, their icing colourful and appetising.

Mor caught her gazing at them. ‘Take one. I brought them for you.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Yes, you can.’

Why did it feel like a weakness to admit the ways in which she was struggling? It wasn’t Nesta’s fault that she was in this life. Not her fault that it was new and scary.

‘Everything tastes so strong.’

Morrigan gave a murmur of understanding. ‘Feyre suffered with that. She just had to push through and get used to it, I think. I wish she was here. She’d be a better help.’ Mor just shrugged, letting the words roll away. ‘What about tea? Can you manage that?’

One of the strange women appeared from the shadows, as if she had always been there. Nesta was sure that sometimes she blurred at the edges as though not quite real.

‘Is that alright, Cerridwen?’

The woman nodded then vanished again.

Mor leaned forwards and rested her chin on a closed fist. ‘What are you reading?’

‘A history of this court.’ Nesta swallowed. This woman was trying to make conversation, trying to help. Being prickly would only push away the help. ‘All I’ve ever been told is that faeries cannot lie and they will enjoy hurting us. I don’t know anything. I don’t know how long you live, who are your enemies – if you can lie.’

‘We can lie. We can touch iron. We can step across a circle.’

‘What a list of talents you have,’ came a drawling man’s voice.

Oh. It was him.

As Cassian approached, carrying a tray of tea, Nesta’s body coiled tight like a snake ready to strike if he came too close.

Mor gave a sarcastic laugh. ‘I’m helping Nesta to understand how fantastic we are.’

‘Oh, you’re a historian? When did I miss that?’ Cassian came around the back of Nesta’s chair, taking a deliberately longer route to get to the space on the table, before putting down the tray.

‘And you’re a waiter now?’

Cassian threw Mor a wink as he poured the tea for the two of them. ‘A male of many talents.’

His eyes slid to Nesta, cataloguing all of the changes in her. She’d not seen him since he was bleeding out on the floor in Hybern’s castle. She remembered the twitch of his fingers, the jerk of his bloody wings.

‘Your wings have healed,’ she stated.

Cassian slowly – ever so slowly – dipped his chin like he was in disbelief that she’d noticed they were not ruined ribbons hanging behind him. ‘They’re not as they were. I need to practise flying. I’ll, uh, be flying here often to strengthen them.’

His eyes dipped to her lips as she brought the scalding cup to her lips only to have something to do with her hands.

Those words hung there. An offer if she wanted to take it. He’d come here again if she wanted to see him?

‘Shoo,’ said Mor. ‘I have an in-depth history of the Hewn City to tell Nesta and I won't have you spoiling it with stories of how amazing you are.’

Cassian held up his hands. ‘Nes, if you want to know about brave warriors, I’m waiting.’

Long after Cassian departed, Nesta was still on a cloud somewhere. Mor’s words hardly registered although at any other time, Nesta would have been riveted with the history of Morrigan’s family. Her mind was caught on a pair of hazel eyes and a teasing grin. Cassian hadn’t commented on the ear muffs she wore or that she was even out of the bedroom.

For hours they talked, conversation swirling from serious discussions about the political alignment of the Night Court to the best boutiques for clothing and embarrassing stories about Cassian – of which Morrigan had plenty. When Nesta finally gave in to the squirming guilt that encouraged her to check in on Elain and be with her, Mor insisted she take a few library books with her and also insisted that Nuala and Cerridwen would be happy to make her whatever food she wanted as long as she asked them.

‘I’m really glad you came out of the room,’ said Mor, linking her arm with Nesta’s on the walk back. ‘Same again tomorrow?’

Tomorrow. Tomorrow meant a future. It meant no longer hiding. It meant accepting that this was her life.

Nesta offered a short smile. ‘I can do tomorrow.’

#nesta archeron #morrigan #cassian

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d1stract-and-daydream · 3 days

Text

No Doubts Anymore (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x You) [Dual POV]

WC: Almost 3k

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Slight Angst, Not Beta-read.

Alternate ending where Simon didn't die, as requested by an anon!

Part 1

Deep, almost purple lines had been a permanent feature of your face, now. Where your eyeliner used to go, there are now tear lines extending from the corner of your eyes—a product of sleepless nights and unhealed grief.

Has it been four months now? Five? Hell, half a year? Time heals all wounds, they said, yet you wake up with more pieces tumbling out of your chest every day that sleep decides to grant you mercy.

Simon’s balaclava, all his bloody shirts that he used to wear, they lie pristine where you last kept them.

In a box, inside the closet.

For you fear the scent of him will disappear with every touch, every kiss upon his belongings.

But sometimes—like tonight—it gets unbearable.

Curled up on the mattress, bedsheets probably moulding in the dryer back when you had the sudden burst of energy to be productive, you took a rationed inhale of the skull balaclava in your arms.

The position was a pain to maintain. Yet, even that kind of pain was preferable. Maybe if you’re in enough physical pain, angry enough, drunk enough-

You’d said no to Price’s repeated recommendations to see a therapist, because how could he understand?

How could the man ever understand the irrational, undeserved hatred—that you’d tried to tell yourself off for—you had against him for having a hand in Simon’s death?

It was just one of the multiple poisons you’d let into your body. Hatred. Substance. Isolation.

“You’re supposed to get up, love. The bills are stacking up.”

And sometimes, like today, the ghost of him materialised to taunt you with an untouchable form. Sitting on his side of the bed—not even kind enough to make a dip on the mattress to tell you that he’s there—and talking you out of misery.

“When’s the last time you’ve eaten something? This is not how you move on.”

“I don’t want to move on! You left. You didn’t even give me a chance to say goodbye- I hate you. With all my heart, I hate you, Simon Riley.”

And, like clockwork, he disappeared into thin air.

***

It is over. He had kept up the ruse, going along with Price’s plan to pronounce several soldiers dead just so he can join a team of spies to infiltrate enemy bases and gather valuable intel.

So he spied, waiting things out until Price gave him the go-ahead to leave, knowing what was waiting for him at home; the state in which he’d left things at.

He didn’t want Price to drop his box onto your lap and let you know that he was dead. Because what use would it be for him to fight against hell, to keep the breath in his throat if it weren’t for the sake of coming home to your arms?

Still, he relented. And, for it to work,, he had to rid himself of every trace of you, just so there would be no connection linking him to his one and only pressure point.

But it’s over now, and God, he has a lifetime of apologising to do.

As soon as he reached his quarters, he knelt by the mattress he’d slept on many a night that he wasn’t able to spend besides you. He lifted it up, and under it—if one knows where to look—was a stitch where he’d taken a drag of his combat knife to before his mission, hid one item of yours he wasn’t strong enough to burn, and meticulously threaded the hole back together.

This time, his slice met with less resistance. He reached into the fillings and felt around, and, there-

He pulled out the glossy picture of you he used to keep in his wallet and brought with him to everywhere he could go.

He got it from the time he’d taken you out on the walk in mid-autumn, letting you pester him to try one of those seasonal drinks he used to care less about. There’s a photo booth right out of the cafe and, of course, you pulled him into it and took so many pictures he’d gone half-blind, but this picture wasn’t from that, no. When you were ordering the drinks, he came back out to the booth because he noticed there was an option to print his own picture from his phone.

He did his best to figure out how the fuck was he to connect his phone to sync up his gallery to it, but it worked eventually.

That damned machine ate almost thirty pounds off his wallet to print out his favourite pictures of you.

One where you were petting a dog. One where you were biting into a caramel apple. One where you had the most ridiculous foam mustache. And this one-

Where you were asleep, right next to him. An image of peace that he regrets not being able to bring you more.

Instinctually, he brought the picture to his chest, right where his heart still beat.

He’s coming home and making sure he treats you well for the rest of his life.

***

When he reached the flat, his spirit deflated, realising that it was empty.

Well, at least, that’s how it seemed from the outside. It was all dark, quiet. There was nothing that could indicate life within the walls of your home, until he heard soft, inconsistent sniffles behind the door, getting fainter and fainter the more you moved away from it.

Even though the key was in his hand, he figured it would be most sensible to knock. After all, you were under the impression that he was dead up until three days ago, when Price had hopefully relayed the actual news to you, giving you ample time to react.

Three classic knocks. No answer.

Another three. The sniffles had died down. Were you asleep?

After about five minutes of waiting, he finally decided to use the front door key.

It’s late, he thought, and you were probably comfortably sleeping.

Like he noticed from outside, the darkness bathed the entire space. Save for the dim glow from the battery-powered LED snow globe that doubled as your nightlight—signs that you were awake were minimal.

I’ll just crawl into bed and hold her, he thought, until an unpleasant smell wafted from the kitchenette.

The sequences of what greeted him? A miserable discovery.

Overflowing bins, unwashed plates. Spoiled food leaking out of the refrigerator and a full load of clothes were still in the dryer.

In truth, Simon had a feeling you’d fall into depression a week or two—a month maximum—before you moved on from his ‘death.’

It had been a year. Has this been your year? Falling into unkemptness when he never knew you to love clutter?

“Love?” He called out, softly, just in case you were really asleep. He tossed his belongings on the sofa unceremoniously—where he put his belongings were the last thing on his mind at the moment—before making his way to the bedroom.

The sight shushed his brain to a ringing silence.

In the middle of the room was the box of his military belongings, opened, its cover flapping against the opening at every oscillation of the standing fan in the corner of the room.

Two things were making sounds at that moment. The fan, supposedly comfortable white noise now an attack to his senses; you, struggling to get a breath in as you cried, hair matted and red sores visible on the sides of your hip.

“Fuck me- Love-” he immediately moved up to the side of the bed. You were facing the other way, curled up and hugging something close to your chest.

“It’s me, love, I’m back, I’m sorry,” words stumble out of his mouth in wasteful attempts. Not even managing to elicit a reaction out of you.

Hell, it took him almost a full five minutes of apologising before you even turned back to look at him.

And the first words that had come out of your lips?

“I hate you, and I wish I had never met you.”

***

Again, the vision of him came to torment you.

What is it this time? To tell you to air the room out? To drink more water?

Again, you tell him the words that would normally make him disappear.

“I hate you, and I wish I had never met you.”

It was like a spell that you had used to stop unwanted hallucinations—or so you thought. They always come back and it takes sleeping to finally stop some of the visions.

This one didn’t seem to budge. In fact, it answered! Maybe you need to take up Price’s offer for professional help.

“You don’t mean that, darling…” he spoke, face absent of the non-expression you were used to seeing in the figment of him that continues to visit you.

Of course, you don’t mean it. But how else would you deal with the fact that you’re slowly losing your mind? How else are you going to attempt to move-

The touch on your face is warm. Textured.

You can’t remember the last time you dreamt about being touched like that again, his hands brushing hair away from your face, and this time, oh, how cruel is it for it to feel this real?

How cruel, how evil?

With fresh tears and wobbly lips—your attempt at trying to hold on from simply breaking down—you whispered, “You never gave me the chance to say goodbye. Don’t you love me enough to even give me that, Simon? Am I not worth a single glance back, when we fought, when I asked you if the mission was more important than your life? Than us?”

The fight, your last memory of him, was unfortunately always the fight.

When you were uselessly clinging to him to not go because your inkling was proved true—it wasn’t a mission that he’ll come back from.

Even knowing that, he kept it to himself. You were to read and interpret his facial expressions and body language yourself, coming to your own realisation that he was given a death mission.

“I hate you,” you say again, “I don’t think I will be able to move on from you. Go away, please. Don’t haunt me anymore.”

Turning your back on him, the silence tells you that the vision had dissipated. A deep sense of regret fills you, intermingling with loss and guilt that tasted like bile in your throat.

You didn’t mean that; you didn’t mean to be mean. Maybe if you turn around and apologise, it could help ease the process. Maybe, maybe-

His sad eyes still stared down at you. It didn’t work.

Where his arms rested, the mattress dented.

“Do you mean it? Have I returned to find you hating me?”

***

He didn’t know if you’d even let him touch you, so his arms rested on the uncovered mattress and hoped for the best.

It sounded like you’ve developed venom for him. Rightfully so, given the way you ended things before he went off on the year-long mission.

Simon was not good at that, the talking part of a relationship. Despite how he presents himself, he still stuttered over his words and lost his speech when being in love occupied a big part of his brain—rendering any sort of poetic affection null. His body speaks for him most of the time.

“Am I losing my mind, or have the ghost of you taken on a physical form?”

The confusion in your face was apparently enough to put a pause on the sobs. You hadn’t an idea how relieved he is at the lack of them. Never in his life would he want to make you cry as hard again, if he could help it.

“It’s me, sweetheart. I’m back. It was a covert mission…haven’t Price informed you?”

He didn’t expect a ‘welcome home’ with cakes and a banner—but he admitted, the least he wished for was a hug. A tight, long hug, followed by a night of holding each other until his body couldn’t physically take it anymore.

Has he gone and ruined it?

“Price?” Your hands thud against the bed to feel for your phone. It had been days since you last checked it, or more. Time moves differently when you’re busy nursing loss and heartbreak. Realising the device was nowhere close, you finally got off the bed—after spending a consecutive day and a half in it—to scan the nearest floor and then-

Ah, there it is. You picked it up and unlocked the screen.

Your eyes bulged as the notifications rolled through the notifications bar, Price’s name consisting of the majority of it.

Simon trails your every movement. After his question, it took you several pauses to think, but almost a quarter of the time to look for your phone, which had undoubtedly dropped somewhere on the floor throughout the day.

His breath stills as he watched your eyes increasingly widen reading the messages. Messages that should’ve reached you at least a couple days ago, that were to prepare you for his arrival.

“Simon?” You called out as you read through each of Price’s explanations and apology. There was another number that tried to reach you, too. Also, a series of apologies—this time, more intimate.

“I’m here,” he answered. God, he wanted to hold you so, so badly. But he can wait. He waited for a year with nothing but the memories and dreams of you to keep him going. He can wait the few moments more that it took you to decide on a path.

“Simon, is- is that really you? I’m not imagining things? I swear, if it’s my head again, this is really cruel-“

“It’s me, love. It’s really me. Not a hallucination. I’m home.”

You look at the figure on the other side of the bed. Slowly, you climbed onto the mattress, scooting ever so hesitantly with your knees to the middle of the queen sized-bed, hands reaching out half-expecting your touch to go through him.

Damn it, he couldn’t wait. When you got onto the bed, his body rushed to mirror the movement, meeting you halfway and grabbing your hand to place it over his cheek—now with an additional scar over his jaw.

His eyes shut. Your touch upon him righted his world again, and suddenly-

He’s crying. Or at least, about to. He’s here, and warm and tears brim his eyes, somehow never falling down.

Most importantly, he’s home.

“My dear, what have they done to you?”

He’d returned to you almost unrecognisable—the certain look in his eyes that made him Simon washed away until only a dull imitation remains.

“Not now, love. I don’t want to talk about it now.”

He’d gone through torture before, and came out of it with deeper scars than the last.

But this torture was different. The enemy they were against was known for targeting the person closest to whomever was against them, thus the need to cut contact with you. Every night was a constant pacing, wondering if they had found you, if you were okay. Every damned moment, your imagined screams and cries took over his decisions, despite him trying his best to keep his head on the mission.

The torture was visions of you being in his place.

“Please, is it too late for me to answer your question now?”

“What question?”

You were always the more emotional one in the relationship. So, despite all the tears you’ve exhausted through months of mourning, there was no surprise that your body had decided to create more.

Though, this time, it was his head pressed to your chest instead of the other way around. Because yes, you may have suffered through the loss of him, but he had been actively fighting for his life in that same duration—and having to hide all of it from you, too, never having the comfort of home at the end of the day.

Your question, which had been making a home out of his skeleton by now.

“When you asked me if I love you. If I did enough to stay.”

You remembered that. It was a last ditch effort—perhaps a manipulative way to make sure he stays. It was a question you regretted asking. Because Simon is Simon, and there were more lives at stake than making sure your pretty little heart stays unbroken.

“I didn’t mean to ask that. Simon, it was wrong of me-“

“Yes, I do.” His answer resolute. That was to be his last mission, and he decided the minute the door closed on him when he left the flat that day. His last, and he’s going home—and if he’s lucky, you would still be there for him.

Simon straightened and this time, took you in his lap. When you didn’t fight, he leaned down and hesitated for a kiss over your lips.

When you reciprocated, his tears fucking fell, seasoning the kiss with its salty essence.

But you didn’t pull away. You kissed him, and every inch of his face, paying extra attention to the fresh scar on his jaw.

You pulled back from the kiss when you started losing breath.

“You do?” You ask, suddenly remembering the velvet box next to his dog tag resting on the dresser beside the bed. Your eyes slid to it.

Simon’s eyes followed the direction yours went.

Fuck, he thought, forgetting that he had intended to propose right after his last mission. Well, apparently the secret’s out.

“I do, I love you. And I will make sure to not make you doubt me anymore. I love you, darling. You keep my head above water.”

Perhaps it will take time to go back to the way it was. Time, and lots of outside help.

After all, there would be no sunrise without the darkest of nights.

“And you keep my feet on the ground. I love you too, Simon.”

#simon riley x you #angst with a happy ending #hurt/comfort #simon ghost riley #fanfic #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #call of duty

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ooihcnoiwlerh · 2 days

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Hello, Darlings! I am back with another chapter of my Feyd-Rautha/Reader arranged marriage fic. (18+ only) Strong content warning and tags below the cut.

@richardslady121 @blazeflays @wo-ming-bai . Please let me know if you would also like to be tagged in future updates!

Trigger warning for this chapter: There are mentions of and references to child abuse, sexual abuse, and incest--none of it graphic, all of it occurring in the past. There is also dubcon/the Reader finding hard limits and triggers without realizing she had them. I feel like the last couple of chapters I've written were mostly smutty fun and this chapter...is not that. I wouldn't recommend going into this blind if you haven't read any of this already. The link to the full fanfic so far is posted above, and I'll cross post the newest chapter down below.

CHAPTER SIX: HIS LOVELY NEPHEW

You don’t have to wonder for too long if Feyd-Rautha wants to train you this morning. You prepare for it with nearly as much sinking dread as you felt before your wedding, pulling on your training pants and shirt that must’ve been laundered since yesterday morning and plaiting your hair. You’re about to put on your boots when Idrisa comes in with her tray and says, “Good morning, Na-Baroness. The Na-Baron will not be needing you in the Training Halls today.”

Just dressing for breakfast, then. There’s a part of you that’s reasonably certain that Feyd-Rautha likes your old clothes from your home planet, just as he likes your hair, but since your first day as a married woman the Baron has insisted that you dress only in the Harkonnen style. You can hardly imagine what he thinks of you keeping your hair. Eventually it won’t matter what he thinks about you; he’s an old man whose body has been kept intact only due to the best of Harkonnen technology and healing, but not even that can make him immortal. At least, you hope not.

So off comes the training gear, on goes another Harkonnen dress that’s snug enough that you won’t be able to wear it for long as you wonder if you’ll be able to tell when you’re pregnant. How early will your body recognize it? Will you have a moment soon in which you’ll just know , or will it take a visit from the Bene Gesserit? You certainly couldn’t begin to guess right now.

Idrisa escorts you to the Dining Halls, probably noting your silence and the nervous set in your shoulders but, of course, saying nothing. You don’t want to go in when you reach those double doors, but would normally accept your fate were it not for a split second before Idrisa’s about to open them.

You hold up a hand. Wait. There's murmuring on the other side. You lean in, walking closer to the sound until you can press your ear against the wall a couple meters to the left of the doors.

“I trust you’ve been fulfilling your marital duties, my lovely boy?” the Baron says. He’s close enough that he must not have sat down for breakfast yet. It sounds like he’s hovering with the aid of his suspensor technology.

“I have.” Feyd-Rautha’s voice, curt and hauntingly similar to his uncle’s, makes you want to turn and walk away.

“I had no doubts, of course. I’ve heard what a virile man you’ve become.”

You furrow your brow. As much as it turns your stomach to think about it, you know that your father wouldn’t talk to your brother this way.

“Those Bene Gesserit whores want you to sire an heir immediately,” the Baron continues. “So of course you’ll have to do your due diligence and make sure your little pet is carrying your son as soon as possible.”

You flush at the insult. I’m hardly his pet, you filthy old man . And not that you expect your groom to defend you, not when he sees you as hardly more of a person than his uncle, but you almost hope that he calls you his wife. After all, he likes it when you call him your husband.

There’s a moment of silence, and even through the door you can sense the tension.

“That won’t be an issue, uncle,” Feyd-Rautha says finally.

You've finally had enough; you glance over at Idrisa, who immediately looks down and opens the doors for you.

You realize that they were looking at an old portrait of the Baron lining the nearest wall that’s either far too flattering or suggests that around the time of his coronation decades ago he must’ve been over a hundred kilos lighter than he is now. You don’t know when it will be replaced with a portrait of Feyd-Rautha, who spares you only a brief glance.

So he hasn’t forgiven you . For what, you’re still not certain. You’re still trying to figure out his anger.

I didn’t cause those scars , you want to tell him, and I wasn’t mocking you for having them .

When you curtsy towards him and the Baron, you’re certain that they know you could hear at least part of their conversation, but you’re not entirely sure if the Baron either doesn’t care that you heard or how you’d react or if he feels smug knowing that he’s reminded you of your place within this Fortress, as if he’d ever let you forget. Feyd-Rautha doesn’t seem to react at all, his face a mask of cold indifference even as you can sense the tension he keeps coiled in his lean but powerful frame.

You’re almost surprised that he continues his habit of pulling your chair out for you before he takes his seat beside you, but you realize that it’s because the Baron must have picked up on this practice from your wedding reception and will immediately sniff out something to use against either of you if he senses anything amiss.

Of course, if the Baron were familiar with how marriage typically works, he’d know that spouses tend to talk to each other, especially over a meal. They don’t sit in awkward silence barely looking at one another for an entire half hour.

It’s more of the same; the Baron oscillates between being condescending to Feyd-Rautha and complimentary, offering vague comments on Rabban’s disappointing return to governing Arrakis and mentioning a possible sighting for another planet that could provide spice without a hostile population fighting them over it. The Baron doesn’t acknowledge you in part because you’re fairly certain he forgets you’re even there; Feyd-Rautha because, well, because. Because of whatever he has buried beneath the surface that you may have awakened. In the early morning, still half-asleep, you didn’t fully realize it, but two memories jump out at you as you sit silently at the table with your husband and his uncle and sneak stolen glances at them both.

“ Guess I just wasn’t pretty enough to be our uncle’s favorite .” Hardly more than a week ago; the way the very air seemed sucked out of the room when Rabban said it, Feyd’s reaction. The seed, though, had been planted years before you understood it, before you were arranged to marry into this twisted family.

“ I can’t prove it, I can’t explain it, but Vladimir Harkonnen has something going on that he doesn’t even want other Harkonnens to know. Something fucked up ,” Father had said once to one of his generals as you’d trailed in just outside of sight. “ Worse than any of his other vices .”

When you were a little younger, but old enough to consider the realistic implications of an arranged marriage, you'd feared marrying into a family in which your father-in-law liked to sample his son's bride. The Baron is as close to a father-in-law that you're getting, and you're confident that he would never do such a thing to you. Not out of honor or respect, you’ve known that he has none for you since the moment you met, but because his inclinations lie elsewhere.

You were prepared for a lot, but you didn’t expect to spend an agonizing meal wondering how horrific the Baron’s treatment of your husband has been over the years.

You'd wondered in the past what tastes the Baron must have that the mere concept of which had disgusted your father years ago. Animals? The dead? Children? All concepts that turn your stomach and when you think about the way he talks to his nephew even now, the scars on his back, the very fact that Feyd tried to kill him during his adolescence, you’re pretty sure you have your answer. Still, it just seems impossible; the two of them sit next to each other as if everything’s normal.

If it’s true, then how? Feyd-Rautha is still so subservient to him, so deferential even if he’s about as friendly towards his uncle as he is everyone else, which is to say, not at all. The closest anyone’s gotten to bringing it up was Rabban, and that was to imply that his little brother…you can’t bring yourself to think about it… slept his way to the top of his family lineage?

The very real possibility seems too awful to be real, but it’s also the most obvious explanation.

You head back to the library immediately after breakfast, returning a couple of documents and heading back to your quarters with an armful more. You could sense the librarian’s nervousness when you specified which documents you wanted, but he complied with a quiet “Yes, Na-Baroness.” It’s a little disconcerting that he’d be anxious over what information you’ll find, but you disregard the part of you that suggests that maybe it’s easier to remain ignorant. You need to know.

The door’s been fitted connecting your bathroom to his, so you’ll be able to slip into one another’s quarters with greater ease. You would’ve been far more grateful for it yesterday, back when your new husband seemed to actually want to be with you. You don’t give it another thought as you spread everything out and start reading.

You’re pretty sure that you now have all the documents that chronicle Feyd-Rautha’s assassination attempt. Fourteen, punished severely, yes, you already have that. You try to find a cause listed, and come up empty. You do, however, find details of what his punishment was.

Three days, apparently. Three days of severe beatings only to be healed with a potent elixir before being subjected to another round, but with the Baron merciful enough to his young heir to heal all of his scars except lash marks on his back. He left them to serve as a reminder never to betray his uncle again. There are a couple of renderings of him from that time; a skinny boy with a narrow face and an angry set in his jaw. It’s the eyes, though, that make you wince. It’s the bags around them that seem entirely wrong for a boy that age, the haunted look in them. Since the moment you met him there was something calculating yet almost inhuman in them. Here there’s just pain and anger.

He was just a kid. This wasn’t some underhanded tactic to seize power; it was the desperate act of an angry boy in pain.

After being spared his life, he went missing, only to be found on Lankiveil days later. He’d managed to find passage under a fake name. You look at the date, furrow your brow, and then check on the other records you’ve held onto–the date of his mother’s death.

They match up; the day the Harkonnens found and captured Feyd-Rautha was the same day his mother was found murdered.

You inhale sharply, getting up and pacing around the room, running your hands through your hair.

Are you surprised? Why? To say that the Baron’s corrupt would be to look into the ocean and say, ‘Ah, yes. There’s water in that.’

You flinch when you hear a knock at the door, feeling silly for thinking for a brief moment, It’s Harkonnen guards coming to execute me for reading about their scandals .

“Who is it?” you ask, voice breaking, and exhaling in relief when Idrisa calls to tell you she has refreshments for you. Water, fruit, a sort of lemon-ginger sparkling water as well that she claims is excellent for digestion. She sets the tray on your end-table and you wonder–-she knows something. Even if she wasn’t present, she must know details that will never see the light of day. Word of mouth endures.

“Idrisa,” you call for her, and she turns. You can’t contain it. You’re buzzing, ready to crawl out of your skin, needing to say it. “I know about the time Feyd-Rautha tried to kill his uncle. And now I know about how he was whipped as part of his punishment and that’s why he has scars all over his back. I know how he tried to return to Lankiveil afterwards, and I know how he was immediately apprehended and brought back here around the same time his mother had been murdered with no suspects, let alone a culprit.” Idrisa glances away, fidgeting her fingers in front of her, and still you press on, the words spilling out of you. “At the wedding, Rabban said the only reason their uncle favors Feyd is for his looks. I know you said that the assassination was before your time but if all the other details are spelled out except Feyd-Rautha’s motive for wanting to kill his uncle, then it paints a certain picture, doesn’t it?” you say, wanting to recoil from your own words and the implications of them.

Idrisa looks down, fidgeting with her hands that she has primly clasped in front of her. “I cannot speak ill of my masters.”

“I won’t tell,” you say. She still can’t look at you. “I’m sorry but I need to know. I once overheard my father insisting that the Baron…” you almost laugh, because it’s so uncomfortable to say. You’d almost rather not know and never have to think about it, but it’s unavoidable. “That the Baron had certain tastes. Certain appetites, not just for food.”

The way Idrisa’s face seems to turn even paler might serve as enough of a confirmation that you’re right.

“And last night, early this morning, I,” you hesitate, stammering for a moment, “I touched one of the scars on my husband’s back. I didn’t think it would bother him but it did. As awful as it is, if,” you take a breath, clear your throat. The idea of the Baron putting hands on his nephew now makes you nauseous, let alone over a decade ago, or, oh, Great Mother, eighteen years ago. “As awful as it is, if what I’m guessing is true, then I need to know.”

Idrisa’s gaze flutters as she tries to find the words. “Na-Baroness, what is in the past…”

“Still affects the present and the future,” you tell her. “Especially if it involves something like this.” There’s more silence, Idrisa biting her lip as she can’t quite look at you. “Please,” you add.

From the way her posture almost snaps ramrod straight, eyes widening, you wonder if anyone’s ever pleaded with her before. You wait, realizing that you’ve found a small crack in her armor.

She hesitates. “I began my service here when I was fourteen. The Na-Baron was seventeen at the time. I was instructed to keep my head down and not say anything. We all were. We were told that if we saw or heard anything, that no, we didn’t.”

“So you met my husband when he was seventeen?” you ask. That was nearly a decade ago. What was he like back then? Was he cruel and efficient, or was he more emotional? Had he already been turned into a killer, or would that come a little later? How much did he change in those three years? Do you know?

Idrisa nods, not quite looking at you. “And he was starting to age out of the Baron’s…preferences, but I don’t think it ended entirely for another year or two.”

It. One word to capture the enormity of what happened. Your mind goes blank. You already knew, already steeled yourself for this, but it feels as though the floor has given way under you. You sit on the edge of your bed, needing to think.

“The Na-Baron has earned the respect of his men since he’s come of age, my lady,” she adds. “They don’t think any less of him, especially not anymore.”

Why would they think less of him? He’s not the one who’s a pedophile .

“How many?” you ask instead. You can’t say the rest, How many victims? but you don’t need to. She knows. Maybe there’s a part of her that’s been bottling this up for years, desperate to say it out loud.

She shakes her head, shrugging, as if to say, No one really keeps count . “Over a dozen that I’m aware of and he’s been slowing down as he’s gotten older, so there’ve likely been hundreds over the years. All boys, mostly between the ages of ten and fifteen or sixteen. I’ve heard that the Na-Baron was his favorite for about a decade.”

Heard that . So people just…talked about it, albeit in secret, instead of doing anything.

“And everyone knows?” you ask, your voice going into a higher register out of pure incredulity.

Idrisa shakes her head again. “Not outside of the Fortress. The general populace of Geidi Prime isn’t aware of it. The Harkonnen government has made sure that they never will be.”

“But everyone else, everyone here…” you trail off.

“We see nothing,” she says again. “We hear nothing. We keep our heads down and keep the Fortress running.”

It is what you’d feared, what he won’t discuss. An open secret that festers much like an open, untreated wound. You think you’re going to be sick.

“The Baron brings in good commerce. He’s held up and improved on everything that’s made Geidi Prime such a wealthy planet. If Geidi Prime thrives as much as it possibly can under his rule, then that is what matters.”

You don’t know how to take this all in.

“Na-Baroness?” she asks.

“Thank you, Idrisa,” you tell her. “You’ve been very helpful.”

She understands this as the dismissal that it is, the need to process everything. She leaves with a curtsy.

You don’t keep track of the time between then and when evening comes; the black sun hasn’t fully set yet; you hadn’t noticed it getting darker.

You look at the renderings of your husband as he was over a decade ago. When did the pain leave? When was it replaced by something that seems far less human, or did it just retreat so far inwards that no one will ever see it again?

Idrisa comes in. Timidly, she stands, eyes downcast and hands clasped in front of her. “Dinner is ready, Na-Baroness,” she says.

You look over at her, and down at all the documents that you’re going to need to put back together and return.

How am I supposed to eat with this person and converse over dinner like everything’s normal? How does Feyd-Rautha stand it?

“And I suppose my presence is mandatory again?” you ask, voice measured, and get up, resigned.

At dinner you’ve never been less hungry in your life. You feel a humming at the back of your skull grow louder and louder as the Baron and Feyd-Rautha make casual conversation about focusing on growing the industry on Geidi Prime to make up for the spice losses on Arrakis.

How can you sit next to this man, listen to the sound of his voice, follow his orders? How do you not want to kill him all the time? you want to ask Feyd. You poke and prod at the little food you bothered to take for yourself and stare at your plate, still trying to wrap your head around the dynamic unfolding around you. How can your husband live like this?

The Baron notices that you haven’t eaten anything. “It’s a little early for nausea, young Y/N,” he says. “Or is the food just not to your liking?”

You can’t look at him. “My apologies, Baron,” you say in as measured of a tone as you can. You’re the one making me sick, you monster . “There is no issue with the food. I just don’t have much of an appetite this evening.” You think about taking your knife and jamming it into his eye. You wonder how often Feyd-Rautha has thought the same thing while sitting poised and calm at this very table.

They usually serve wine with dinner. The Baron usually indulges, and due to his size and age can drink a lot without it seeming to affect him. Feyd-Rautha usually declines, not to your surprise. Now that your monthly courses are pretty much over your plan has been to decline as well, given what will soon be the nature of your condition. Tonight, though, you accept, hoping that the alcohol on an empty stomach will numb you to what’s happening at this table and keep you numb when Feyd-Rautha comes to “fulfill his marital duties” tonight. Neither of them comment, but both look at you as you tip your glass back.

You’re not sure if the Baron can sense it, but Feyd-Rautha can. He’s a smart man; he knows you’ve been reading about his life, about recent Harkonnen memory, so he can reasonably assume that once you set him off early this morning that you did whatever research you could as to why.

He says nothing about it; he barely even looks at you throughout dinner and the quiet tension is excruciating; he knows that you know and it makes him even angrier. He also can’t take

I’m not like the people who let it happen, you want to say. I’m not your brother who called you weak or suggested you were asking for it. I don’t think you’re less of a man for this. Maybe no one else had the compassion for you that you needed but I do.

But a man like him, one raised on brutality–you’re not sure he’d ever accept your compassion if you offered. Maybe he’d be offended by it.

The hours tick by after dinner, and then after you get cleaned up for the evening and changed into only your robe. He doesn’t come by, doesn’t demand you come to his quarters. You try reading but give up after you realize you’ve been reading the same page for the past several minutes. You’ve come to regret drinking your dinner tonight instead of eating it; the faint buzz you got from two glasses of wine on an empty stomach has faded and instead left you feeling both empty and slightly nauseous, with the beginnings of a headache.

“Maybe he won’t come tonight,” you say to Idrisa as she’s getting ready to leave for the night, and the sentiment makes her hesitate.

“My apologies, Na-Baroness, but he will,” she says. “At least until you have proof of conception.

“Would you like me to stay until he arrives?” she adds, looking as awkward as you feel at the idea.

You shake your head. “It’s fine. You’re relieved. I don’t want you to have to see this, if and when it happens.”

She lowers her head in a bow and departs without another word.

You continue reading in bed, staring at the same page as you listen for any sounds, dreading each passing second.

When you hear it, a door opening and closing to your bathroom, your breath hitches, fear creeping up your spine.

You look up, watching the bathroom door, waiting, heart pounding and your breath now caught in your throat as he silently enters your bedroom.

He’s naked. For the first time he’s not erect.

You stare, frozen, your book folded open on your lap.

He looks at you and your obvious fear in your wide eyes and it doesn’t seem to amuse him this time. It doesn’t change anything, though. He’ll get what he came for.

After a moment he says, “Strip and get on all fours.”

You stare, almost incredulous at his coldness. It had been fading so rapidly over the past week you hadn’t even realized it was gone. His cruelty before came with a level of interest. His gaze is impassive, but then there’s that glint not of lust, but anger. At you, at the Baron, at his circumstances, whatever it is, you don’t want to bear the brunt of it.

“We don’t have to do this tonight,” you tell him. “We’ve done it enough that there can’t be any doubt and even if there is, we can try again later when…”

“I won’t repeat myself,” he says before you can say anything that reminds him of his past, his uncle.

You can’t really mean this. You’re not any more in the mood for this than I am, you want to tell him, as you set your book beside you and slowly unfasten your robe. You keep your eyes on him, anticipating the attack. Maybe he’ll lunge for you, you think as your heart pounds and your robe falls open. He’ll let out some inhuman noise and pounce. Your nipples pebble against the bedroom air and you notice his gaze fall there, to the exposed skin bared, but he doesn’t move.

You don’t give his cock a second look; you don’t want to know if and how aroused he is by this. You just keep your gaze on his face, impassive as ever, as you remove the robe completely, hesitating and wanting to stop, wanting to suggest that maybe the two of you talk about this.

You open your mouth, not sure what you can even say before slowly turning over on the bed, taking a deep breath, and sinking, humiliated, down on your knees and forearms.

He doesn’t move for a moment, just stands where he is, and you resist the urge to turn your head to look at him and yet you’d give anything to know what he’s thinking right now. Soon, though, you feel the weight of knees sinking into the mattress behind you. You shut your eyes, waiting for him to say something, to do something. For a moment, nothing, but then you hear him begin to stroke himself, breath hitching. His other hand moves along your hip, briefly squeezing the cheek of your ass before sliding his cock along your slit.

You’re not wet enough for this to be comfortable, and he doesn’t appear to care in the slightest. You wince at the first push of him inside of you, a hiss escaping your clenched teeth. It doesn’t hurt as much as it has before, and yet you hate it more and you whimper as he bottoms out inside of you. He doesn’t pause, doesn’t seem to respond to your noises, just thrusts again into you, deep and hard.

He can hear you finally sob, head bowed, tears pricking up, wriggling away from him before he yanks you back onto him. His breath is harsh and his hands bruise your tender skin.

I hate this, you want to tell him. You don’t know how to explain it; it’s not even the position he’s taken nor the roughness, because you can handle both. It’s the contempt and the coldness; he doesn’t want this, would probably prefer to be alone while he’s inside of you and that bruises your ego as much as it does your sensitive insides.

If you were more experienced and more confident and not completely blind-sided by the wealth of horrific information you’ve gotten today, maybe you’d try to moan, buck your hips against it, seem like you can enjoy this to try and raise his enthusiasm but you can’t. If you knew how to play seductress to make this easier for both of you, you would.

This is what you expected on your wedding night; the cruelty in his lack of real desire, but until tonight he’d been utterly transparent about his attraction to you and it’s taken until now to understand just what a difference that makes. You’d take having your wrists tied and your ass struck and his cock cutting off your airflow any night over feeling like this.

He comes with a grunt of completion inside of you like he might as well be coming into his own fist.

The tears roll down your cheeks and as you bow your head, onto the sheets below you.

I am Lady Y/N of Y/H and the Na-Baroness of Harkonnen. I am your wife . I’m not just some hole for you to penetrate and I’m not someone you can punish for existing because you can’t punish the person who really hurt you. The words die in your throat before you can even think about saying them, and you gasp as he brusquely pulls out. Some of his seed trickles out of you and starts to dribble down the inside of one of your thighs. You don’t want to look at him. You want to slap him. You don’t understand the depths of your own anger as it builds.

He pulls away, and for a moment you think he’s going to just head back to his room as you right yourself and turn onto your side, but instead he turns back to you, sitting down on the edge of the bed and cupping your chin and cheek in one hand. He forces you to look up at him with your red-rimmed eyes, your tear-stained cheeks flush with hurt and humiliation and he sees it with that same lack of emotion that makes you want to scream. White-hot rage flares up within you, and he seems to realize what you’re about to do before you do it, before you realize you’re doing it.

You’re still crying as you spit a wad of saliva directly into his face.

He doesn’t even blink.

Instead he grabs your hair roughly, jaw tightening, and you can’t help the fear lancing up your spine, but it doesn’t completely replace your anger. He has you in his grasp and your mind draws a blank on how to apologize, maybe beg for mercy, when you’d almost rather remain in furious silence.

It’s not quite anger in his eyes, not quite lust, but it’s not that same furious look he had early this morning or the coldness he exuded before he pushed his way inside of you. He brings your face closer to his as he leans further in. He presents his cheek now coated in your spit.

There’s so much you don’t understand. No one taught you this language and this man is hard to decipher, but you’re pretty sure you know what he wants without him having to say it.

You hesitate for a moment, your lips against his cheek, before darting your tongue out and licking your own saliva off of him. They’re tentative, almost kittenish licks against his skin; you sense his breath even out and feel the fluttering of his lashes as he briefly closes his eyes, feel his jaw relax as his lips part.

I don’t get it. How does a gentle touch infuriate you but being spat on calms you down? you want to ask, as his hand relaxes in your hair and he lets you withdraw. How do you forgive a decade of being violated but not me finding out about it? How do you forgive the scars on your back but not me touching them?

He looks at you another moment.

“Your training resumes tomorrow,” he says.

“Fine,” you tell him, your voice shakier than you’d like, your anger extinguished. He seems wearier than you’d first thought.

He gets up, starts to walk away, when you remember that neither of you exchanged a word about what he’s been through, and that won’t do. Not with everything left unsaid, the horrors you’ve discovered that you know, in the quiet moments in your bed, that still haunt him.

You reach for his wrist. He looks back at you. The coldness is replaced by resignation. “There’s nothing to discuss,” he says. He’s not talking about your training. It leaks through the cold edge in his voice, the finality of it. “It’s done.”

How, though? You reopened an old wound that never properly healed, and he just wants you to quietly let it fester?

You release his wrist and he leaves, disappearing back into the bathroom and beyond to sleep in his own bed tonight.

You’re not sure what understanding you just reached. It’s not something you could have prepared for, and there’s a part of you that persistently assumes that even though he won’t talk about it, this will come up again.

You’re sinking back into bed, hoping that you’ll be able to sleep tonight after everything that’s happened, when it occurs to you: once you have a son, you can’t allow the Baron anywhere near him. Even if Feyd-Rautha has learned to live with what happened to him, and maybe even loves his uncle in a twisted sort of way you can’t really comprehend, you can’t allow the same thing to happen again. So that leaves you with several options, each seemingly more impossible than the last but no matter: you’ll have at least nine months to figure out a plan.

#feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd x you #dune part two #dune part 2 #feyd rautha fanfic #austin butler

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midastouch-zaza · 4 hours

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Wendy was practicing for her music show the next day but somehow she can’t hit this one specific note, worried, she asks help from R manager to assist her in trying to put her in a hard situation to make her belt out the note. Determined now, she changes in her outfit for tomorrow’s show for better results, R manager then suggests to her something ridiculous out of the blue: turning her on, so she can hit that note. She agrees interestingly and lets R feel her abs first to get that feeling and then her whole body soon after to heighten her feeling even more, eventually, it works and she finishes R herself on her body as a sign of thanks and gratitude with no strings attached. She then tells R to treat their exchange as a work relationship only or is it? Knowing now what R is capable of doing…😏🫠

P.S: Thank you for answering my request about Irene bro. Hope this somehow absurd idea comes into fruition someday lol. Keep up the good work and take your time as always. Tc and have a nice day.

[I'm a sucker for good plots, especially if they involve members of my favorite group. I swear it was hard to choose which one between all the Red Velvet ones, but today I was craving Wendy solo so here we are lol. Also, I know I have to write about more groups, I swear I'll do It]

"Fuck, I can't do it, what's happening to me?", Wendy groaned, walking nervously in the practice room. Her first live show for her new song "Wish you hell" was the next day, but for some reasons she seemed to not be able the highest note in the song.

You had been there with her for hours, being her manager, and you were starting to get worried too. She needed to ace her performance, but she was experiencing some type of vocal block in that moment. What to do?

"What can I do? Please help me", the vocalist asked you, almost reading your mind. She was desperate and she was ready to accept help from anyone. "Anything is fine, let's just try", she basically begged, biting her lips.

You got up from the bench and walked towards her. "Alright, alright, just let try whatever", you tried to reassure her, patting her shoulder. From there you tempted with the most absurd shits like making her listen to that part over and over and making her wear her show outfit but nothing.

You tried to scare her, you even pinched her arm, but even the pain didn't work to make her reach her note. Honestly you were finishing the options, but you couldn't let her down, not now that she was looking at you with those sad and desperate eyes.

"What if I turned you on?", you blurted you, surprising her. "You know, your hormones can help your reach those notes easily", you were pretty sure that explanation was bullshit, but Wendy somehow got convinced.

"I guess we can try, so...do your stuff?", she nodded, allowing you to touch her body. You didn't want to start off strong, so you just got closer and start to feel and massage her abs, luckily her crop top gave you free access to that area.

"You know where to place those hands, uh?", Wendy joked, but at the same time noticed her vocal chords getting relaxed. "Wait... maybe it's working, can you do more?", she requested, looking at you all serious.

Displaced by that question, you did the only thing your horny brain suggested you: you pulled out your cock and started to grind it against her abs. They were so firm and ripped, but at the same it was so pleasant to use as surface to rub against your shaft.

"Why do I discover just now that you have such a great cock?", she exclaimed surprised, and once again she already felt her voice improved, and actually that situation gave her an excellent idea.

"Oh my gosh, of course, I have to work on my throat", she realized, before going down on her knees, facing your cock. "I hope you don't mind if I use it a bit", she warned you, before making your member disappear in her mouth.

It was incredible the way she took it so deep in her throat with no resistence or gag reflex, SM vocal training was really something else; and Wendy being one of the best in the industry really made you understand that.

She was literally warming up her throat while sucking your cock so eagerly, she always changed her speed and technique to be sure her warm up was done perfectly. But honestly you didn't care, she was making you go crazy, her tongue covering your shaft with her spit and saliva.

"Let me help you, Wendy", you told her, but actually she didn't need help at all, you just wanted to fuck her face. And that's what you did. Slamming repeatedly your dick down her throat, being so rough that her white shirt was now dirty with drops of saliva.

But at least it was not cum, that finished all inside her stomach, when you released your seed in her mouth. "Thank you, manager-nim", she smiled, finally letting your cock go and slowly getting on her feet again.

"Uhm...you can go a second round, right? I feel like I can succeed this time", she asked to you, feeling her throat more tired but also warmed up perfectly for every tone now. "Maybe this time you can use my other hole", she proposed, slowly unzipping her black pants.

If the proposal alone made you hard again, seeing her panty wet made your cock throb. You took her wrist and brought her to the bench, making her lay on that rigid surface with her legs open and her pussy ready to be fucked.

"And now sing for me", you said, smirking, before slamming your shaft inside her at once. She almost hit that note because of the pleasure. "Again, again, manager-nim, fuck that note out of me with your girthy cock", she exclaimed, panting hard.

So you started to pound her, slow but deep movements, and more you went deep, more she was closer to that damn note...until eventually..."Oh yes yes yes...yeaaaaaah", she finally managed to pull the perfect pitch.

"My God, finally, thank you so much", she thanked you, pulling you down for a passionate kiss. "Now use my body as you want, you deserved It", she whispered against your lips, and that really ignited you.

Now that thrusts were not slow anymore, you were fucking her stupid on that bench, pressing her tiny body under your strong body, while your cock was ravaging her tight pussy, making her moan/sing with such a melodious voice.

"Fucking hell, manager-nim, you're stretching me so good", she confessed, rolling her eyes back, her climax reaching her, and you were not far too. You put your hands on her hips, fucking her body as if it was made for your own pleasure, seeking your own pleasure.

And after few minutes you also had your orgasm. It was so strong that you barely had the time to pull it out and shoot all your semen on her glistening abs, making them all sticky, while moving up and down quickly to catch her breath.

"Luckily I don't have to dance tomorrow", she joked, breaking the silence and trying to avoid the embarassment, but still your giggle was kinda forced, realizing what had just happened.

"Listen, don't worry, you don't own me anything, we are just two professionals who helped each other, nothing more", now she was the one reassuring you and patting your shoulder. She couldn't know that secretly you wished for more.

"...but, you know, maybe tomorrow you can home to my house to help me train my vocals again, after all I have to promote for a week...or two", she added, looking at you with lustful eyes and a naughty expression. I guess for the following days you will work as manager and vocal trainer.

#kpop smut #kpop thoughts #girl group smut #kpop x male reader #girl groups x male reader #red velvet smut #red velvet x male reader #red velvet wendy #wendy x male reader #wendy smut

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babybatss-blog · 16 hours

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A bad boy with bad moves

sirius black x f!reader, 900 words

cw: swearing, underage drinking, sexual suggestions.

summary: For the first time in his life, Sirius is flustered. Who knew that was possible!

Sirius Black is awfully privy to getting his way. A privileged rich boy, bending the rules and the attention to his will with his signature dazzling smile and piercing grey eyes. And it’s always been this way for him. Despite familial issues and taunting self-doubt passed down through cold generations, Sirius knows exactly how to bend things to just how he wants them.

But today, on a dreary Friday in a dusty classroom, things have changed for the worse. Sirius has always known who you are, clinging to Lily’s side and standing up for her when James makes another ruckus attempt at garnering her attention, but for some reason you seem different today. Perhaps it’s the way you’ve done your hair or the especially tight top your wearing, but he can’t help but stare at your pink lips, pursed together in concentration to the teacher’s instructions.

“psst.” He nudges you hoping to get your attention. “psssssst.” He nudges again.

“What Sirius?” You say, a stern glare in your eyes for disrupting your focus. “You going to the Ravenclaw party tonight?” He asks, a pearly grin on display as he leans back precariously on his chair. “Yeah, I think so… Why?” You ask. Although you and Sirius are friends, you don’t really communicate out of the classroom apart from short waves or him stealing Remus away from your study sessions. “No reason.” Sirius nonchalantly replies. He hopes it will uphold your intrigue, as it has done with many lovesick girls in the past. But alas, you just shrug and return to your work. Dammit. Nonetheless, Sirius has no doubt that after a couple drinks you’ll be wrapped around his pinkie finger effortlessly.

That night, Sirius struts insouciantly into the party, after having a quick hype up from his mates. Sirius didn’t bother to tell him who his new conquest was, because he knew they would cause a scene if they found out. After scanning the party, he spots you. God, you look gorgeous. That little dress and heels, those thick lashes fluttering softly as you talk to some guy. Wait, some guy? Sirius’ jaw clenches, seeing the way you giggle at his jokes and push him playfully. That should be him next to you, making you laugh and having you all to himself. That should be him, taking that dress off of you and pushing up against his-

“Yo Padfoot, did you find that chick you were talking about earlier?” James prances up behind him, causing Sirius to jump slightly in fear. “Shit Prongs! Yeah, I did. I guess…” He says, looking down at his shuffling feet. James knows his friend all too well, recognising this rare sign of defeat in his friend and replies. “Hey, what’s up? Surely she hasn’t rejected you right?”

“No, it’s not that.”

“Well talk to her then dipshit!” James pushes his back, catapulting Sirius forward and leaving him alone in a crowd of drunk students. After taking a deep breath, Sirius struts over to you, who is now drinking a beer alone on the edge of the dance floor.

“Hey.” Sirius says, looking you up and down. You copy his greeting, mirroring the casualness. “You look nice tonight” He winks, which only illicits and sweet huff from your mouth. “Thanks loser.” He laughs at this feigned insult, although slightly touched by how lightly you act around him. An awkward silence falls between the two of you, although you don’t seem to notice or care. “I um, was wondering if you wanted to…” He’s words are interpreted by Lilly Evans, who runs over to join the two of you. “Hey! Frank and Alice want to verse me in beer pong, do you want to be my team mate?” She asks you. You agree excitedly, although it doesn’t take you long to notice the unfinished sentence Sirius left you with. You tell Lily you will be there in a second, then turn back to the man who is fidgeting with his rings. “Sorry. What were you saying before Lily came over?” “Oh, fuck. Well I was just, sort of asking you if…” You tilt your head down expectedly, smiling and the now rattled man in front of you.

“Can you help me with my essay for Flitwick’s class? I’m really struggling, and I thought you could help me. It fine if not though, really.” Sirius quickly patches up his question, no longer confident in the face of a girl he once saw as merely a friend. “Oh, of course! Why don’t we go over it sometime this weekend in the library? I also found it hard, but chapter 6 in the textbook really explained it well and I think it has some great points of contention.” Sirius expected nothing less from you, such a kind, selfless soul. You give him a quick goodbye then walk off, causing Sirius to let go of a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

“Well shit. You’ve really done it now Black. You’ve gone and fallen for the one girl who doesn’t like you back, and fucked up real well in the process” Sirius whispers this chastisement under his breath to himself. Never before has his bad boy persona dropped, but here he is, asking for study help like a scared little first year.

#sirius black x reader #sirius x reader #sirius black fluff #sirius black #sirius orion black #marauders #marauders x reader #sirius x you #sirius x y/n #the marauders #hp marauders #hp fanfic #hp fandom

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shizukateal · 2 days

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Miraculous Ladybug Magical Girl Fashion Review -Part 1

Preamble

Ok, so. What do you people generally think of as a "superhero outfit"? Spandex, right? Tight-skinned, uninterrupted spandex covering almost all the body, or at least not straying away from the body line if you're a girl and only get a swimsuit. Maybe a cape (hood optional) depending on how dramatic you are to add some flow or, if you're a woman, your hairstyle will do that job. Otherwise you can have some form of helmet or headpiece to distinguish yourself, and that's it. That's the extent of options you have. If you're extremely lucky, they might allow you to wear a jacket.

While this description might be a bit of an exaggeration (not by much, though) I think we can all agree that this is a very restrictive set of rules to work with. It's very hard to make something that completely contours to the body visually compelling. It's hard to distribute colors and shapes and patterns in a neat way that makes you stand out when you have to compete with thousands of millions of characters with the same 3 allowed bodytypes (lean, broad, or Woman™️). Which is why we should clap even more at designs like the DC holy trinity and especially Spiderman, who not only has a fantastic design in spite of how alienating it should be, but whose look is also currently inspiring thousands of artists to make their own variations, technically also including today's very own Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

This is all a very lengthy way to say that some of the MLB people wear their fursuits better than the rest. Skin-tight onesies with fur patterns are not something everyone can pull off. Doubly so with how inconsistent the art direction in the show is, with everyone in the cast reaching different levels of uncanny valley and swagless drip. I personally think that many of them would do better if they thought a bit outside that box of "standard superhero fashion" and went for something more specific to the personalities of the characters, but there are some winners amongst the rabble. Much like the writing of the show itself, the show's design averages into a trashy sludge pile that still manages to look tempting thanks to some unexpected moments of competence. Let's sort through the pile *cracks knuckles*

Ladybug (standard and ultimate version)

You'd think it would be easy for me to just say "yeah, the bland, near fully uninterrupted polkadot bodypaint onesie is both boring and silly and the other more balanced version is a LOT better by comparison" and leave it at that, but unfortunately I also have to talk about the hairstyle. And the hairstyle is wrong in a very specific way which I don't have concise terms for, so I need you to pay attention and stay with me here.

The pigtails work well for Marinette. They are distinct, practical, realistic enough while bordering just slightly on the fantastic, and their mild childishness enhances Mari's romantic nature. In theory they also match the polka-dot theme and they are not impractical considering the function of Ladybug's suit, but they still go against what it's trying to do. There's probably a concrete term in shape and action line theory that better educated people than me know about, but to give you the gist of what I mean I'm gonna do another Shitty Paint Edit™️ so I don't go in too many circles explaining myself:

Ok, you get what I'm trying to say here now? The pigtails match the balance of this specific pose, but the suit is too skin-tight and it highlights Marinette's neck, so they interrupt the buildup. They don't even work well as pieces of flow for contrast, because the hair is so stiff and the ribbons are barely noticeable. Compare to itsanarkee's cosplay and how much better she looks because she has an updo. The worst part of it all is that, usually, matching a body-paint suit with a hairstyle to provide contrast in a female superhero is, like, babyshit, the bread and butter of superheroine costumes, but Astruc managed to find the one hairstyle in the world to make it work wrong because he was to proud about Marinette's design to change anything. Just give her the fucking buns already.

Chat Noir

He serves cunt. Pops pussy, if you will. The only very mild itch it gives me is that I can't see what his ears are attached to and it bothers me, although he's not the only one with that feature and I understand why they would want to hide a hair band especially in his design. I can forgive that when everything else in this design is genius. The belt tail. The way his mask sharpens his features alongside the hair and ears. The flaps on his boots and gloves that highlight how his movements put more weight in his joints. The acrylic claws, the paws on his boots. The lines that highlight his figure in just the right way. The fucking bell. Chat is easily the best design amongst the heroes.

And while this my purely subjective interpretation, I truly do think it's understated how much this outfit manages to sell Adrien's clark kenting. It makes complete and perfect sense to me at least that Marinette wouldn't recognize him like this. Adrien is just slightly generically pretty enough that you wouldn't assume they are the same person just because they're both blonde bishies, and the contrast between the two personas is high enough that it could be realistic that some people wouldn't put them together if they are not looking for that connection. Doubly so for Marinette, who is way too enamored with Adrien's personality of generic un-disruptive niceness with a touch of rich boy angst to fully reconcile it with Chat's outright spicier demeanor lightened with Pathetic Wet Beast Energy for potability.

Rena Rogue vs Volpina

Yeah, this one merits a comparison. It's a perfect example to elaborate on my first rule. Lila already stands out as another of the best human designs amongst the cast, and the sleaze she exudes lends itself a lot better to this slick body-paint tightness and form-highlighting curves. The tail-sash around her waist is also brilliant. She'd probably look even better in something more grounded, but the fact that she's already pulling the outfit off like this is still an accomplishment.

Rena Rogue on the other hand... well, everything around her head is very good and cute, and I especially appreciate the eyebrows on her mask. On paper I also like the top with its longtail, but overall Alya looks a lot blander than Volpina, because her outfit doesn't reflect her personality the way it does Lila's. It's not ugly, even if the patch of white starts to bother me because it has no interruptions as it goes down. In fact it succeeds in making Rena look kind of adorable, really, but Alya is not a cutesy girl, and tbh the overall general texture of the outfit is a lot more body spray-painting-ish than Volpina's, which also makes it look cheaper in a bad way.

The Fox miraculous may be summarized as the power of Illusion, but both girls represent two facets elaborating on that concept: where Lila is the Fox as Deceit, Alya is the Fox as Cleverness. So Lila may be... smart manipulative -Ok, sincerely speaking Lila Rossi is the single most blatant Villain Sue I have ever seen put onscreen, but what I'm trying to get at is that while she -supposedly- has some cunning, her pettiness and eagerness to speak on the fly is -or rather should be- a contrast to Alya, who goes around sniffing for the truth and thus always has a fuller picture. Because remember: the best liars tell the truth. So Rena's outfit should reflect that. It should be less slick and more street-savvy, something that the pendant with its long chain is especially well suited to.

Speaking of all these thematic parallels, am I the only one in the fandom who is extremely weirded out that Lila isn't a rival to Alya? Like, aren't they extremely obvious foils beyond both of them being fox-themed? The girl who bases her clout on lies vs the one who searches for the truth? The girl who pretends to be friends with Ladybug while bullying her civilian identity vs the girl who is friends with both? Have the writers ever exploited this ever since I stopped watching?

Carapace

Nino is almost perfect. I am genuinely impressed at how well they chose the angle of this costume. It's so easy for me to imagine a much shittier version with an ugly cowl/spiderman wannabe facemask -because other characters in this series take that approach-, but taking a page out of spider-gwen's book instead paid amazing dividends. He looks great as teenage not-mutant ninja turtle.

He only has two significant faults. One is that I feel his goggles should be tinted opaque orange, and he should wear a mask over his mouth and nose. You know, make the clark kenting a little easier, the stealth more pointed, maybe he can have a cool graffiti of a turtle beak over the mask for a sprinkle of his actual personality. The second is that the partition he chose for his crotch area is a bit iffy and yes, I am very sorry to talk about this. The shape of the partition itself is not bad but it's the same color, so it doesn't actually help the transition all that much and instead, sadly, it only brings more attention to the middle. My suggestion is that he should take a page out of Rise of the TMNT's book and make the plastron into actual armor that goes from his chest to his navel, instead of just a logo on the front. Then he can either wear black shorts or he can go the Rise!Casey Jones route and wear pants that are slightly baggy but still cinch to his ankles.

Then there's only one last thing he needs to be completely perfect and that is having an actual relationship with Master Fu since he is the direct successor of his miraculous and one of the first characters to be akumatized on account of his resentment towards adults, so I feel like there's a whole bunch of narrative foiling potential not being explored there, you get me?

Queen Bee vs Vesperia

Zoe's face is more interesting and I appreciate that, as well as the design team giving her a braid, but Chloe still wins this one. Vesperia's outfit is reasonably cool on its own, but it does very little aesthetically for her. Perhaps if the colors of her top and pants were inverted it could work, but there's something about the aggressive sharpness of its lines that Zoe's bubbly face is not matching, made worse by the black being at the forefront. That might not be a problem in civilian outfit, but only because that look is balanced with other colors. Or rather, I think she also needs a more casual fit to pull it off instead of a skin-tight jacket. I also get what they're trying to do with her bangs and I would love it were it not for the fact that it doesn't look good in this artstyle. Chloe also has that problem with her hair, but Queen Bee's style fits her a lot better in a much obvious way, and for added points I think Queen Bee wears the cord as a belt better too., so congrats to Chloe on her one win, I do hope the writing allows her to have proper character development later instead of constantly resetting her to square one for conflict.

#miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #cat noir #chat noir #adrien agreste #rena rouge #alya cesaire #volpina #chloe bourgeois #queen bee #nino lahiffe #carapace #zoe lee #vesperia #magical girl fashion

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themultifandomgal · 3 days

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can you do a hank voight x reader where she had a dream about him and is avoiding him untill he corners her and she admits and the rest is up to you!!

Hank Voight- Stop Avoiding Me

Just a small request hope you enjoy!

Hank Voigt a man I secretly like, secretly because 1 I work for him and 2 he’s double my age. It’s almost like a forbidden romance type of thing, but I know there’s no way he feels the same. I’ve been trying to avoid him any time I can. He walks into the kitchen I walk out. And now to add on to this I woke up this morning from having a dream about Hank, about how he kissed my lips, then my jaw and down my neck.

Interrupting my thinking a cup is placed on my desk. I look up to see my partner Jay

“Thanks”

“Looked like you needed it. Tough night last night?” He asks me

“Something like that” I take a small sip of coffee before looking back at my computer

“You want to talk about whatever is bothering you?”

“What makes you think somethings bothering me?” I frown turning on my swivel chair go face Jay who’s now got his eyebrows raised

“You’ve been staring at Voights office door for the last 20 minute. What did you do?”

“Nothing, I just… nothing I’m fine. Anyway thanks for the coffee. You better get back to writing the assault report. Voight will want it by the end of the day. Just as I say that Hank leaves his office. His tight shirt fitting around his muscles, shaking my head I look back to my computer screen trying to forget my dream last night

“YN Jay I need you to check out a wear house. Lindsey and I will be your back up but I’ve had a tip-off that we’re going to find drugs and possible weapons. Gear up” he says. Quickly I get to my feet and move passed Jay towards the lockers so I can grab my vest. I begin trying to do it up but fail miserably, sighing I leave the locker room and outside where Jay, Erin and Hank are all waiting

“Need some help?” Hank asks looking at me

“Err Jay can you” I point towards my back signalling I need help with my vest. Nodding his head he turns me around and does up my vest. I walk past Erin and Hank and get into the car. I can see from the wing mirror Hank is talking to Jay who then shrugs his shoulders before walking to the drivers side of the car. He starts it up and we make our way to the wearhouse.

Walking through we split off in pairs, Jay and I walking back to back with our guns in our hands

“No one else is here YN, you going to tell me know what’s going on?”

“Really Jay you want to do this now?” I question

“Yes because you won’t tell me when Voight is around. He’s not here so tell me what’s going on. What did you do?”

“I had a sex dream about him alright. I’ve been avoiding him because I like him and last night I had a sex dream. I know it’s wrong but fuck Jay I….” Before I can continue I hear gun shots being fired. Jay pulls me down behind an abandoned car

“You both ok?” Voight radios to me

“Yeah we’re fine” I reply as Jay starts shooting back

“Lindsay and I are coming in” I hear as I help Jay out by shooting back.

Erin and Jay arrest 2 men at the wearhouse while I do a sweep to make sure I’ve missed no one

“YLN” I hear Voight, but try to ignore him and continue walking “YN will you stop! What’s going on. Why are you avoiding me?”

“I’m not” I say still walking away

“YN” I feel him push me towards a wall, turning me to face him. I don’t think I’ve ever been this close to him before…. well in the real world, in my dream last night…. No YN stop “tell me”

“I can’t” I say quietly looking into his eyes

“Why?”

“Because it will ruin everything. I’ll get transferred and…” for the third time today I’m cut off, but this time is by Hank kissing me. I kiss him back before we pull apart

“Sorry I didn’t know how else to shut you up”

“Really?” I chuckle “you really didn’t know how else to get me to stop?” Hank just shrugs “why did you kiss me?” I frown

“Why do you think YN? Why do you think I always join you on busts like this? You won’t be transferred and your not ruining anything. We’re both consenting adults” Hank then starts to let me go. We start to walk back to the car outside “next time you have a dream like that just tell me and I’ll help” I freeze at that

“How did you know about that. I only told Jay”

“Your partner can be an idiot sometimes. Had his radio on”

“I’m gonna kill him” I say between gritted teeth making Hank laugh at me. We all out of the building and stood by the car is a guilty looking Jay and Erin smirking

“Jason mother fucking Halstead I hope you you have your bullet proof vest on because I’m about to murder your ass!” I shout storming over to him. I guess though if he hadn’t of done that Hank wouldn’t have kissed me so maybe I should be thanking him.

#one chicago #one chicago imagine #chicago pd #hank voight x reader #hank voight #hank voight imagine

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quillkiller · 7 hours

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i’ve arivved limo style to invite you in and have a convo about mcg. please do come in. my most esteemed mcg scholar. i have no idea how to spell that

upon reading your most recent fic i was most intrigued by your take on our beloved minerva m. mcgonagall (idk what her middle name is i like m) because you took her in a completely different direction then i did and i am actually fucking obsessed with it. where you see her as more masc leaning im over here in hyperfem-domme-with-a-riding-crop land but i love that both versions of her that we’ve manifested have that same core being that makes her mc-fucking-g. you understand, of course.

and now, we mustdiscuss mcg with a belly button piercing. because idk how old you see her in like “present day” (like in my mcj fic she’s in her mid 60s i think, at least to me but i left it open for interp) but i think miss mcg was absolutely out there on the town (the hamptons boardwalk, circa 1960) looking hot as hell in a skimp bikini and giant audrey hepburn-esque sunglasses and her humongus navel piercing, a minx in the flesh. and its so sad james nor rita couldve been there to admire it.

(ive actually been dying to pick your brain about your mcg since i read your rita fic because she is SO so very. tjere are no words to describe how much i want her. i need to know your every thoufht)

i am enthusiastically and being very suave as i step into this limo of yours. thank you for inviting me im very glad we can have this important meeting

first off. minerva m. mcgonagall sounds so unbelievably sexy. i wholeheartedly agree. i don’t know why margaret entered my brain immediately but minerva margaret mcgonagall has a nice ring to it……. sounds very Esteemed.

and yeah. to me she’s always been the shane masc type dyke standing at the front of riots, having freaky queer friends, never settled down because she has massive commitment issues. her other lesbian friends are married by now but she just never did.. she got her degree and fucked around. in my ritaminerva fic i picture her being between 57-59 and rita as 26-28

however. let me tell you. your femme dom minerva has been on! my! mind! she makes me a little insane. whenever i read your mcj i picture them in a 50s film with butch james and older femme minerva. they’re so unbelievably delicious to me. femdom minerva i want you so bad. and MID SIXTIES…….. ive been wondering and pondering over this. that’s so fucking sexy i need a minute

and yes of course i understand. we’re the minerva understanders with our different takes on her character and i am so deeply obsessed with yours

and yes, to the point being minerva’s belly button piercing. minerva with her hepburn swagger and tight bikinis and just a huge shimmering belly button piercing…… what an absolute Vision. i’m imagining this is a surprise to anyone who would sleep with her now that she’s in her mid sixties. like im picturing james figuring this out and her reaction. i would literally short circuit entirely if i was her.. and just imagining her when she was younger.. turning heads on the beach in her skimpy bikini and loud laugh and the jewels in her navel. i would be Staring.

so for my minerva. she’s in her late 50s and wears waistcoats and patterned suits. she wears a lot of silver jewelry. lots of rings and a modest silver chain around her neck. her hair is short and graying and she wears it in a small bun every day at the university. i think my minerva would’ve impulsively gotten a belly button piercing when she was like 19 and one of her friends did it for her (who works as a piercer today). they were maybe a little high and minerva woke up the next day and just. never took it out. it’s one of those simple belly button piercings. just plain silver piercing. she wears the same one always until she feels she should change it. she has had a few with different colored stones (i dont know if thats what its called..) before. black, green and red. she likes to keep it simple but she doesn’t want to take it out. i feel like she took it out at some point when she turned 30+ something because she felt she was too old for it but then she found a piercing lying around her house when she was around 44 and though ’i should see if it still goes in’ <— literally what i did last year. i hadn’t worn a belly button piercing since i was 17 and then i spontaneously bought one because i was curious and it still went in ahdjfjskf.

however. the body tries to reject piercings right. so i imagine she can’t wear the ’normal’ piercings anymore. they’re too heavy and the skin is too thin (???) now. so……… im very much thinking about her getting one of those belly button rings. she reaches 50 and has been wearing one since she put it back in…… and now she’s attached again. so she buys a belly button ring. and just keeps it. which is a vision that makes me salivate…. minerva i Want you.

im having prophetic visions about rita seeing it for the first time….. and just losing her mind. because to me rita is very heavily femme but she doesn’t really have piercings or tattoos. she has the usual pair of earrings and thats it. she wears big earrings, flashy and elegant. but the professor has atleast 6 piercings in her ears even if she’s only wearing two small silver rings these days. and then rita sees the belly button ring and her immediate impulsive is to get it between her teeth

incidentally. this has also made me consider minerva and tattoos. i think she wouldve gotten a few dumb ones in her youth. maybe even a sleezy tramp stamp that says ’STUD!’ or something….. i’m also having visions of her with one of those 90s dykey tattoos that alice has in the l word

WHICH THE ACTRESS HAS SINCE REMOVED. a travesty to me. either way. the thought of minerva with faded tattoes from her youth…… im having thoughts

either way. please i would love to know your every thought about femme minerva and her belly button piercing. she’s living in my mind and im becoming obsessed with her… femdom minerva in her mid sixties i want you so bad. i want to know everything about her and her youth… what kinds of piercings… how often does she change them… does she match them with her outfits……. or with her underwear…. the way it dangles when she walks i am Weak.

(im so happy you sent this ask because ive been DYING to discuss minerva with you. whenever you post about her or mcj i am stopping everything and Reading……..)

#minerva #the only dyke minerva understanders…….#claude tag #mwah

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