#'for shame. do better. are you a doctor? then you should know this. are you a greedy little infomercial? then you shouldn't speak of this

[thewritingwolfie]

trusting - harvey sdv fic

pairing: Harvey x Farmer OC (September)

warnings: mentions of sex (!!MDNI!!), self-doubt & anxious thinking patterns (from Harvey), hurt comfort if there was more comfort than hurt

summary: after a night of role-switching, September can't convince Harvey to let her take care of him

word count: 1.2k

a/n: LMAO AM I FORMATTING THIS RIGHT. first time I'm ever posting a fic on like. almost anything (except i did a couple things on ao3 a bit ago but that's different). hopefully this is super cool and not cringe gang <33

~~~ Harvey wouldn’t hear anything of it.

He was standing in his apartment, nearly naked, flummoxed, and staring at a very exasperated September. She’d come to see him for the evening, but after-hours alone at the clinic usually meant things led from one thing to another. Well, most of the time, Harvey prided himself on the aftercare aspect of things after knocking her socks off. But tonight, he had not only taken on a more… submissive role, but now she was insisting she take on that caretaker role.

“No, no, September. Sit down. I can get us our usual snacks,” he said, holding up a hand to silence her protests. It was his job, in and out of this relationship, to take care of her.

September groaned, running her hands through her hair. “Harvey, love of my life, apple of my eye, I swear to Yoba.”

“What? This is what we do every time.” He went to take a step forward, having to pace himself from his wobbly legs. September hadn’t exactly spared him. “We get, ah, intimate, we wind down, and I take care of you. I don’t really understand what your problem is.”

“My problem, love, is that our dynamic was different tonight. You wobbled as you stepped, don’t think I didn’t see it,” September replied, cocking an eyebrow at his legs.

Shit. She was always an observant type. Harvey adjusted his glasses, face dusted with pink. “Well, yes, I suppose, but-”

“No buts.” She gently stepped up to him, pushing his shoulders so he fell back onto the couch in his living room. “I’ll make some snacks. Rest up.”

“September-!” he gasped, making a move to sit up. But his body, wracked with aftershocks and exhaustion, let out a protest stronger than his will. He grumbled, crossing his arms. Why was she being so insistent? 

He watched her in his tiny kitchen, pulling together some snacks on a plate. She looked so calm, so intent on doing this. Some pang of emotion shot through Harvey’s chest as he watched her move, only in her undergarments, bringing over glasses and wine and food. She was pushing herself too hard, wasn’t she? He had to step in, he had to be the chivalrous doctor everyone knew him to be-

His flurry of thoughts was interrupted by the feeling of the farmer’s body bumping his as she sat down. “Here, I got those little pickles you like so much. You should eat, you’ll feel better.”

Harvey stared at the plate. He… didn’t have an appetite. “Why?”

“Hm?” September cocked her head.

“Why are you… doing this? I mean- it’s my job. I’m a doctor, I take care of you, right?” he spoke slowly, his hands rubbing the edge of the couch nervously. “You work so hard, doing your farmwork all day, not to mention the mines, a-and running errands for the town… this is the least I can do, isn’t it?”

September watched him speak, watching his face twitch with despair as he spoke. His voice began to crack. She’d never seen him so… vulnerable. Harvey almost burned with shame. Why wasn’t she responding?

“Oh, Harv,” she whispered, reaching over to cup his cheek. “You do so much for me. I never expect you to just- to just throw yourself into caretaker mode after we mess around, dear. You deserve that same care you give to me, silly!” She laughed softly, kissing his cheek, speaking so casually as if it was information he’d know all along.

Harvey felt a soft choke of tears. How was this so easy for her to say? He couldn’t afford to let himself relax as a doctor. He never had. “September-”

She shook her head. “Hold on.” September wrapped around him, pulling him onto her chest as she laid back on the arm of the couch. “Okay, talk.”

Had he ever been held like this? Harvey opened his mouth to speak, but all he could manage was a soft whimper. The whimper gave way to the dam in his throat and behind his eyes, which gave way to a soft, strangled sob.

September startled, pulling him tight. “Oh- love, what’s wrong?” she asked softly, tangling a hand in his soft hair. “Hey, shh, shh, I’m here. Did something go wrong during our-?”

“No," he whispered softly, weakly pulling his glasses off of his face to wipe at his eyes. In front of her? He felt even more awful. “No, no, everything was- was nice, I just-" 

He let out a shaky sigh as she curled her fingers at the base of his neck, massaging it with gentle care. She hummed softly, feeling his body shake from trying to hold in his tears. “Not used to this?" she whispered, a sympathetic smile on her lips.

“I'm supposed to take care of you," he whined, hugging her waist. “Why can't I-?" 

“Because you're exhausted, Harvey. You have done so much for others today. How many checkups have you done?” she asked, not giving him a breath to answer. They both knew. "How many records have you filed?” Too many. 

Harvey buried his head in her skin, considering her. She was too soft and too comfortable to fight anymore, so he gave in. But still, mentally, he couldn't relax. “September-" 

“Harvey, can you listen to me for a second?" 

He couldn't say no, so he just nodded.

She sat up, gently propping them both against the couch in a half-up half-down position. He laid on her chest and her arms encircled him. "Okay. Look. You're a doctor. How important is after are for a patient after a medical experience such as a surgery?" 

“Vital," Harvey responded, barely thinking. It was like he was back in med school for a mere blink of an eye.

“Exactly. And if a patient has a panic attack, how important is aftercare?" 

“Still vital." 

“Uh huh. So tell me why this is different,” September said, kissing the crown of his head.

Here he fell silent. He felt September smile against his skin.

“Exactly. Harvey, you are a human as much as anyone else. No one could ever ask you to be on target 24/7. If you didn't sleep at night you'd crash and burn for sure.” She tilted his head up so his eyes met hers, smiling brighter to make sure he could see it through the fuzz of tears and the lack of glasses. “I love you. I feel no weird begrudging obligation. I will always be there to catch you when you fall. And I need you to trust that I will tell you when I can't. Can I trust you to trust me?”

His eyes flicked between the blobs that he was sure were her own. Could he trust her? With his life. So why was this so hard to swallow? Was it even safe? Was he safe?

Harvey took a slow breath. Of course he was.

"Okay,” he croaked, voice a little weak from the night. "I can.”

"Good,” September mumbled, kissing him briefly. "We can trust each other.”

Harvey hummed, sleep threatening to overtake him. He hugged September closer, burying into her skin, making her giggle against him. Maybe he couldn't be entirely sure. But even a small chance of success was worth going for, wasn't it?

Finally, fading into the soft, welcoming arms of sleep, Harvey let go for the first time.

[egginfroggin]

I don't mean to sound complainy, but one of my pet peeves is when ads, books, or what-have you talk about diabetes being a reversible condition and utterly refuse to specify what kind of diabetes they're talking about.

For those who may not know (and I don't blame you, diabetes is a very complex issue):

Type 1 diabetes is a condition that results from the body attacking itself by specifically destroying insulin-producing cells in the pancreas. These cells, the islets of Langerhans, do not regenerate or divide, and are permanently gone when they die. Type 1 diabetes cannot be reversed, only treated.

Type 2 diabetes is a condition wherein the body does not metabolize carbohydrates, insulin, or glucagon (a hormone produced and stored in the liver; raises blood sugar when released) properly, causing a rise in blood sugar. It may involve insulin resistance or overutilization of glucagon, among other things. In some cases, type 2 diabetes can be reversed, usually through diet and exercise (however, this is not a certain outcome, and some people may need medication).

To summarize:

Type 1 diabetes: body does not produce enough insulin. Permanent condition. Symptoms managed.

Type 2 diabetes: body does not utilize insulin or carbohydrates properly. May be reversed. Often treated with diet and exercise, in addition to medication, if patient is overweight.

Needless to say, that is a very distinct difference! One may even say crucial! After all, they are two conditions that have similar outcomes, but very different causes.

You do not tell a type 1 diabetic, "oh just exercise and eat better, it'll fix it," because, I am so sorry to disappoint, we do not know pancreatic necromancy. If we did, well, then, type 1 wouldn't be an issue, now would it?

I feel like it really isn't hard to put in the two words, "type 2," before "diabetes" in your advertisement or book, yet I keep seeing it. Yes, I know that most diabetics have type 2, but still -- is it really so hard?

(Yes I'm bitter. Back in my wee days of diabetes, when I was still using syringes and lamenting the sheer number of carbs in cake, I was severely disappointed upon finding that the majority of sources claiming that diabetes wasn't permanent were referring to the type that I specifically did not have. Very disappointed. Rub it in, why don't you.)

So, yes, please specify! It could very much save an already-stressed child, teenager, or even an adult (as type 1 can surface in adults as well) a good two hours of fuming and lamenting their lot in life.

Also you'll have fewer enemies with needles at their disposal.

[iniziare]

Tag drop: Kafka

[peachesofteal]

Dead Disco / Chapter Fifteen Dead Disco masterlist

AO3 Warnings: Angst. The storm.

“You’re here.”

“I’m here.” Your heart breaks on it, on two little words. Breaks apart again at him standing in your door. The silence between the two of you is a scream, and though your tears have dried, there’s still an ache stretching infinitely before you. You peek over his shoulder, hoping Johnny is here too. Wanting to fix the mess you just made, but he’s not.

Simon is alone.

He pulls it wide. His face is twisted. His eyes are red. He’s been crying. The realization nearly brings you to your knees. “Can I come in?”

You didn’t clean the kitchen up, and neither did Johnny. He stood there for too long, kissing you over and over on your cheek, your forehead, your mouth and profusely apologizing, tugging his jeans up over his hips. Frozen afterwards, the two of you, fire and fuel once burning in your veins now ice cold, slithering under your skin like a disease.

That’s what you are. Who you are, who you were. An illness. A plague.

A slowly healing thing.

You always thought they made you better.

“I’ll stay, I should-“ 

“He’ll wonder.” You stared at the floor. “And he’ll worry, you know he will. He’ll be scared something happened to you.” 

“Darling, I dinnae want to leave ye right now-“ 

“I’m fine. Go.” 

Simon doesn’t try to touch you. He takes inventory of the mess, the caramel puddle of coffee spilled over the edge of the counter to the floor, the knocked over stagnant water and paintbrushes.

You become starkly aware, too aware of the state you’re in. The state of your apartment. The state of your brain.

You wish Johnny was with him. You want it to feel like before.

You can see his face so perfectly in your mind, the slope of his nose, the plush of his lips. Anxiety twists your stomach, worry about how he’s doing, what he’s doing weighing you down.

Still. Simon is steadfast. He’s the ship in a storm and you’re the sailor, clinging to a mast, praying to god you’ll survive.

“Are you-“

“I’m sorry I was so emotional on the phone.” You rush out, cutting him off. His brows knit together, prodigious sympathy in his eyes, golden brown refracting.

“I’m sorry for calling.”

“I’m… I’m glad you did.” He steps closer, and then away, opting to stand to the side, still taking stock of the kitchen, studying the orange pill bottles on the counter. “New meds?”

“Yeah.” The conversation is stilted, a dam preventing a flood.

“Are they working out?” You shrug.

“The one makes me really forgetful, but it’s not so bad.”

“That’s good.” You’re nodding and can’t stop. There’s a part of you wanting so badly, so desperately, to go to him, to bury your face in his chest and let it all go.

And there’s another part that doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know how to reconcile any of this.

“Will you tell me how you’re feeling?”

“Confused. Sad.”

“That’s okay.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, darling. Whatever you’re feeling is okay.” Your stomach rumbles at the exact same time, and his lips quirk to the side. “Are you hungry?”

“A little.”

“Have you eaten today?” You can’t force your mouth to give the answer, the obvious no, so you shake your head. “Do you have groceries?”

“Some.”

“Can I make you something to eat?” You suck in a sharp breath. Can he? Will you let him? Will the two of you revert to these roles, like no time has passed? Have you not made progress, have you not grown? 

You pack the shame of it away, burying it deep. You’ll try to unpack it later, on the couch, in front of the doctor. You’ll talk through every second, pick it apart and try to put it back together again. You’ll rip yourself open, expose your soft spots, the ones that bleed more than any other.

She’ll tell you it’s okay.

She’ll ask you how you feel about the decision.

You’ll say you don’t know, as you always do, and she’ll say that’s okay too. You don’t have to know right now. She’ll tell you there is nothing wrong with the way you feel, just like Simon does.

There’s been intensive therapy, to get you to this place. To drag you across the finish line. Sessions after sessions, four days a week.

It was a bargain. She promised not to have you sent involuntarily, and you promised to be in her office every other day.

Still, she doesn’t know Johnny, doesn’t know Simon. She doesn’t see how they love, how they exist.

You take a deep breath. “Yes.”

You watch him from the couch. Curled over the armrest, your chin on your elbow. His shoulders, chest, flex under his t shirt, opening cabinets, searching for things in an unfamiliar place.

You’ve never felt more loved by him than you do in this moment.

A man willing to push everything away to take care of you, to disregard himself in favor of you, to put himself aside every time he steps through the door to focus on you.

A man who knows what's coming. Who's always been able to see inside you, and yet, still makes you dinner. Still cares for you in the way he knows how. 

All you ever wanted, was to feel loved by them. Separately and together.

Now you feel it more than ever.

You tried to force a circle into a square. 

You think about Johnny again. About how he’s at home, penitent, destroyed. You think about how he must feel, knowing Simon is here, and he’s there. You ache for him. Wish you were settled between them in bed, his body against yours, the steadfast pace of his breathing evening your own out. You want him to hold you. 

You wish he was here.

You ache without your pieces.

But you know it’s not supposed to be this way.

“Darling?” The cadence of your moniker pulls you away from yourself, and you look up.

He’s crouched in front of the couch, nearly eye level with you. “You’re crying.” You tap your face, surprised. You are, the realization abrupt, the onset of them too acute.

“’m sorry.” You choke, and he murmurs softly.

“It’s alright. You’re okay.” His thumb finds your cheek, carefully sweeping them away.

“I’m not.” The truth is agony. You’re not okay. You weren’t okay when you fucked Johnny, and you’re not okay now. You haven’t ever been okay, and it hurts so badly. It stings deep down in your heart, your belly.

Your tears rush out of you, and Simon moves, comes around the side of the couch.

He pulls you into his arms, and you bury your face in his chest.

Hiding. Relying. Letting him carry you through. 

“Simon…” You sob, and he rocks you, arms tight, resolute in their hold.

“Shhh, I know. I know, it’s okay.”

“I d-didn’t mean for this to happen.” You’re talking about Johnny, but you’re talking about everything. The struggle, the agony. Everything.

“I know you didn’t. I don’t want you to worry about that.” The feeling inside you is more than pain, it’s death, it’s excruciating. There’s a piece of you dying, crumbling, turning to ash. You’re trying so hard to hold onto it, to keep it inside, but it comes out with these wretched sobs, the ones that split your ribs open and bleed you dry.

He holds you through it. Holds you tight enough the pressure eventually calms you, and there’s nothing left except the soaked circle on his t shirt and your tired, wet eyes.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” He takes a deep breath, still clinging. “Let me feed you.”

“Okay.”

He sits next to you at the little table where you usually try to eat alone. Where you drink your coffee, alone. Where you pick at your food, where you swallow a handful of pastel-colored pills with a glass of juice every morning like clockwork. Like a robot.

You manage more than a few bites. Breakfast for dinner, one of your favorites. You know he picked it because you love it, and he wants to make you happy.

It only makes you lachrymose. “I’m sorry about Johnny.”

“It’s not your fault, darling.”

“Don’t be mad at him.”

“Let me worry about that.”

“It wasn’t… he didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one who put him in that position. I kissed him and-“

“He knew better. I don’t want you to dwell on… that.”

“I love him.” Your voice cracks.

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know you do, darling. I know.” You’re going to cry again; you can feel it. The acid starts up behind your eyes, and though you’re not sure you have anything left, they pool along your lower lids. “None of that.” He soothes. “C’mon. stay here, stay with me.” You shake your head.

“I l-love you both, so much. It hurts.” He blinks furiously, and then through your own blurry vision, you see his tears. The ones that slip reluctantly through his lashes, down his cheeks.

“We never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know, and you d-didn’t. It… it hurts Simon. It hurts and I don’t know why.” He tugs you from your chair and into his lap, hauling you up onto his thighs. “P-please-“

“Just… let me- let me hold you, darling. I don’t want- I want to feel you.” He cheek rests on the top of your head, and you cling to him, a child lost, a sailor scared in a storm.

He knows.

You know he knows. You feel it in the rapid pace of his heart, the shudder of his shoulders.

He knows. He knows it better than you do.

And maybe he always has.

“You were right.” After a while, he whispers in your hair. “And so was I, even though I didn’t want to see it. It was never fair.”

“We wanted it… too much.” That much is more than true. You wanted it so desperately, and so did they, you know it. You don’t doubt their love for you, though the scales have always been imbalanced. Imperfect puzzles, trying and failing to click together.

“I’m sorry, I… we, were so selfish.”

“I wanted you to be.”

“It still wasn’t right.”

You sit there for hours, curled up on his lap, listening to him breath, memorizing his heartbeat.

You think of Johnny for the hundredth time. You want him to be here. You want him to hold you too. You close your eyes and try to remember how he feels, your love for him overflowing into a mountain of more and more agony. For both of them. 

“I should go.” Simon finally says, shattering the moment, and you nod.

It’s a death march to the door.

“Will you come by, to see us? I mean… to… talk to us. Together.”

“Yeah, I… I will.” The guillotine waits in the wings, a final chorus cut off by a symphony.

“Tomorrow?”

“Okay.” He leans in, presses his lips to your forehead.

“I love you, darling. We always will.” You nod, but say nothing, cheeks wet again.

He turns away, rolling his shoulders, heading down the hall.

There’s something building in your heart, an explosion, fear compounding.

“Simon! Wait.” He stops. You close the gap, tugging him down until your lips crash together, warm and salt soaked and full of torment, suffering. “I love you.”

This time, he says nothing. Only kisses you again, long and slow, before taking you by the shoulders and intentionally stepping away.

“I know.”

You stand in front of their door for too long.

You wish there was something you could take, something you could do, to release you from this. To build a barrier around your heart so you don’t have to feel it. Any of it.

There’s not, and you know that.

You know you must succumb to the water, dip your head below and hope you come up for air on the other side.

There’s nothing left to do except this.

You lift your fist to knock.

“This is my fault.” Johnny cries, and you squeeze his hand.

“It’s not. It’s… it’s all of us. We did it together.” Simon kisses his temple, rubs his back, and he leans into him, face buried in his shoulder. The guilt eats you alive, knowing that the last time you truly spent with him was when he was inside of you. You wish you talked to him more, made him feel loved, told him how much you cared.

But you were selfish.

And so was he.

“It’s not your fault, sweet boy. I promise.” Simon tries to soothe him, but  Johnny slams a fist into his knee, so hard you wince, and Simon grabs it, fingers firm around his wrist. “Stop. Stop now.” He strokes a hand through his mohawk. You struggle to breathe. 

“I love you so much. That’s… that’s never going to change.” Johnny shakes his head as Simon closes his eyes, nose dipping down into his hair.

“Ye cannae leave us, darling. We need- I need ye. I love ye… p-please.” The three of you are crying, sliced open, surgically diced into cross sections for an autopsy.

The death of a relationship.

The death of three parts to a whole.

“Johnny.” You say his name, over and over, until he pulls away from Simon and tugs you close. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, committing his scent to memory.

Simon wraps his arms around you both.

You feel whole. A puzzle complete. A sunrise after a storm.

And that’s why. 

“I love you.” You kiss the shell of his ear, soaking him with your tears. They’re everywhere, dripping down your face, your neck, your shirt. You can barely keep your breathing steady, despair restricting your lungs. “I’ll always love you, Johnny. Always.”

“Please.” He sobs, shakes, holding onto you so tight. “Dinnae leave me. Please.” Your heart is shredding to pieces. Ribbons of blood and muscle trying to contain too much, unable to cling together. His pleas are enough to make you second guess yourself, to make you nausea enough to nearly throw up.

It’s beginning to become overwhelming, and in the throes of your building panic, you glance wildly at Simon.

He stares back. Nods. Wraps his hands around Johnny’s shoulders and tucks him back into his chest. “No!” Johnny hisses, but Simon holds him steady.

“I’ve got him.” He says, voice broken.

You sit frozen like a deer in headlights.

“I love you.” You cry, and hope they know it’s meant for both of them.

It’s always meant for both of them.

Simon takes one last long look at you and closes his eyes. “I’m proud of you.” He whispers, hoarsely, and the final piece of your heart breaks. “Go.”

Can you? 

Do you have the strength? 

The sun is bright on your face.

It’s warm, and beautiful, the promise of something new, something different. You stand on the sidewalk, devastated but-

Unafraid. Imperfect pieces, slowly stitching together to make you whole, all on your own.

Without Simon. Without Johnny.

Just yourself.

It’s terrifying. Heartbreaking. And it’s only you now.

You, figuring out how to exist in a world too harsh for your heart. You, without the protection and promise of your other pieces, the ones who came home to you every time, the ones who put you back together. You, learning how to take care of yourself, to truly do it, for the first time.

You, who is not broken.

You, who is stepping forward without darling.

You who is just… you.

[paradiseprincesss]

i should've fucked your brother | jonathan crane & jackson rippner

i wrote this in like three hours lol i had an unhinged idea and said LET ME SHARE IT WITH YOU ALL.

summary: you walk in on your boyfriend, jackson rippner, cheating on you. naturally, you want revenge and who else better is there to help you do that than his estranged brother jonathan crane?

warnings: threesome, p in v, oral (both m&f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, cheating, swearing, mdni 18+ only!!

word count: 3.4k

masterlist

“you’re home early.” your boyfriend said with a shocked expression, staring at you from your shared bed — with another woman entangled in the sheets beside him. 

you scoffed in disbelief as you took in what was happening. “yeah, i knew you had the day off but i didn’t realise you’d already made plans.” you tell him, gesturing to the naked woman beside him.

“babe,” he started, scrambling as he hastily threw on some pants, “please. this meant nothing to me, you know i love—”

“jackson — just don’t.” you warned, glaring daggers at him. “all this time i've been faithful to you, and for what? did two years mean nothing to you?”

“of course it meant something to me. work has just been killin’ me, okay?” he said with a sigh.

“so you cheated on me?” 

you had been dating your boyfriend — jackson rippner — for just over two years now. you’d met through work, as you’d been assigned to work with him to assassinate a certain political figure together. ever since the beginning, you two were a team. 

well, you thought so anyway. 

“i didn’t mean to!” he said defensively, throwing his hands up to further prove his point. “you’ve just been gone a lot, and—”

“pack up your shit and leave.” you deadpanned, staring at him with a lifeless expression. you weren’t playing games anymore; he’d run out of chances. 

“you know what,” he laughed lowly, brushing past you as he deliberately nudged your shoulder harshly, “i think i will. you’re too much, anyway.” 

you watched as his mistress ran out behind him, looking like she was coated in shame. as you try to process what just happened, you sigh and grab a bottle of wine from the fridge, pouring yourself a full glass. as much as you wanted to cry, the tears weren’t coming out — maybe you were still in shock.

your head was clouded and your emotions were running rampant, and now that alcohol had been added to the mixture — you were brewing up the perfect concoction of revenge. there was a list of things you could do to jackson in order to get back at him, but there was one thing person that you knew you could use to get your ultimate payback.

his estranged brother — doctor jonathan crane.

i think i still have his number, you thought to yourself as you scrolled through the contacts on your phone. your finger landed on the dial button of his contact, and after a few rings, someone picked up. 

“hello?” jonathan’s voice asked from the other end of the line, and you smiled to yourself.

“i caught your brother cheating on me.” you said, deciding to just come out with it — no beating around the bush. you were an honest person, unlike some people.

“...and you called to tell me this because?” jonathan asked after a moment of silence, presumably to process what he was hearing.

“i’ll be honest with you, jonathan. i’m looking to get my revenge on him — and i know you want to do the same.” you said, smirking to yourself as you pitched the idea. “i know you’re still mad about what he did to you all those years ago.”

jonathan was silent for a few moments, but eventually he sighed. “what did you have in mind?”

“i think you should come over later.” you suggested in a sultry tone. “he’s going to be back to pick up the rest of his stuff. i wonder what he would think if he caught us—”

“wait — are you seriously suggesting we do…that as a form of revenge?” jonathan choked. 

“as if you’d say no.” you challenged, making him chuckle quietly into the phone. “come on, i saw the way you were looking at me that one time i joined jackson at that family reunion you were both at. you weren’t exactly subtle about it.” 

“apparently not,” he said with a quiet laugh, “...fine. send me your address.”

you hang up and send jonathan the address before texting jackson to come pick his things up around eight since you’d be…home. jackson texted back immediately, saying he’d see you at eight, along with a lengthy apology over text that you disregarded.

you wasted no time getting ready, hopping in the shower and making yourself look perfect. i mean, yes, you wanted to make sure jackson knew what he was missing — but you also wanted him to see what his brother was having. 

you settled on your favourite black lingerie, lacy and sensual. perfect for the occasion, right? you styled your hair and perfected the details of your makeup before your phone buzzed, lighting up with a notification from jonathan.

i’m here.

you felt your heart flutter, and you quickly typed out a response.

door’s unlocked. 

as you pressed send, you heard the front door creak open before being closed shut. you grab your matching black, silk robe, and make your way to the front entrance of your home. 

jonathan’s blue eyes pierced right through you as he drank in your appearance, staring at you in awe. he was in his usual attire, a suit and tie, along with that sweater vest he always wore (which, by the way, you secretly found strangely attractive). 

“you look…” jonathan said, trailing off before finding his voice again, “wow. you look even prettier than the last time i saw you.”

“thanks.” you say with a small laugh, unsure of what else to say now that he was actually here. “d’you want a glass of wine or something?” 

“i wouldn’t be opposed to that.” jonathan shrugged, taking his suit jacket off and tossing it onto the back of your couch. “red would be great.” 

“got it.” you said, rummaging around your kitchen for two wine glasses, pouring a hefty amount of red into each. 

as you hand the glass of wine to him, he eyes you down — clearly not bothering to hide his attraction to you. “you know,” he started, “i always thought you were too good for my brother. you’ve got a lot going for you — you’re smart, beautiful, kind…”

you blushed at his flattery, shaking your head as you downed your wine rather quickly. “well, i appreciate that.” 

“i mean it.” jonathan insisted as he wrapped his hand around your waist, toying with where you’d tied your robe. “you’re truly ravishing, darling.” 

both of you put down your glasses of wine, and he wrapped his arms around your waist fully. he pulled you close — so close that you could smell the lingering remnants of his woody cologne — and you looked up at him lustfully. 

“maybe i should have jackson admitted to arkham.” jonathan joked lowly. “only someone out of their right mind would stray from someone as perfect as you.” 

“you barely know me.” you whispered, your lips getting closer to his.

“yet, i found myself wanting to. even after all this time.” he confessed, closing the gap between you and him. 

he kissed you sensually — in a way jackson never did. every time you and jackson had sex, the lead up to it felt rushed. he’d always kiss you roughly, forcefully even, and you’d have no choice but to go along with it. jonathan was softer — kinder.

he held you close as if you were made of porcelain, ready to shatter at any moment if handled too roughly. his kisses were gentle and sweet. he took his time to get to know you and your body.

his hands slipped around the knot of your robe, pulling it undone as he pushed the fabric off of your body. slowly, he pulled away from the kiss to see what was underneath. his eyes went wide as he admired your perfect figure, staring at awe at the lace details. 

running his hands over the curve of your ass, he gave it a little squeeze. “i see you dressed up for the occasion.” he commented. “i’ll treat you so much better than he ever did, i can promise you that.” 

“show me then, jonathan.” you whispered, taking his hand and leading him into your bedroom. 

between sloppy kisses and giggles from you, the both of you ended up on you and jackson’s old shared bed with jonathan on top of you. his hands roamed your body delicately, making sure that you were comfortable — and turned on — every step of the way. 

the way he was kissing down your neck, nipping at the skin there lightly, had you whimpering and begging him for more — and you’d only just started. his hands made their way to the underside of your back, unclasping your bra with ease.

once your bra was tossed out of the way, he worked on getting you out of your panties. his agile, gentle touch sent goosebumps up your spine, getting you worked up over just the way his fingers brushed over your skin. 

“can i take these off too, darling?” jonathan asked politely, hooking a finger into the band of your lacy underwear. you give him an affirming nod, to which he takes as the green light; go.

as he slipped your panties off, tossing them to the side, he swiped a finger through your soaked folds. the dirty yet simple action caused you to involuntarily let out a rather filthy moan. the noise caused jonathan to smirk to himself — all worked up and over what?

a few kisses and some light touches? 

well, you could tell which of the two twins was familiar with the female anatomy, that was for sure. 

“beg me.” jonathan stated, looking up at you from between your thighs. “i wanna hear you beg.”

“jonathan, baby — please.” you whimpered, squirming from under his intoxicating stare. those impossibly blue eyes did it for you; you were a soaked mess and he hadn’t even fucked you yet. “give it to me. i need it, p-please.” 

you swore his eyes had turned three shades darker as you spoke to him, and just as he was about to attach his mouth to your soaking wet cunt, the bedroom doors swung open.

oops.

jonathan whipped his head around as you peered over his shoulder, and the both of you were staring at a very angry and very shocked jackson. his expression was priceless — you’d kill to have it photographed and framed if you could. 

“what the fuck is going on here?” jackson growled, his jaw clenching from pure rage. 

“what does it look like, jackson?” you teased as jonathan was still in between your thighs. “you wanted to play dirty, so that’s what we're doing.”

“are you fucking joking?” jackson asked in disbelief.

“if i’m not mistaken,” jonathan chimed in at his brother, “weren’t you caught in bed with someone else just hours ago?”

jackson disregarded what his brother said, staring directly at you with a look that screamed pure anger. “so, this is what you do less than twelve hours after we break up?” he hissed. “you fuck my brother?” 

“we haven’t fucked yet actually — but if you want to stay and watch what it’s like when i’m not faking it, then i won’t stop you from staying.” you smirked, watching jackson as he saw red. 

“oh, really?” jackson challenged, “don’t mind if i do, then.” 

you looked at jonathan who looked back at you — neither of you were expecting him to stay, let alone watch. jackson noticed the exchanged glances between you and jonathan, to which he scoffed. 

“don’t tell me you thought i was going to just let this happen. not a fucking chance — she’s my girl, crane.” he sneered, but jonathan chuckled lowly. 

“not anymore, rippner.” 

jackson didn’t offer a response as his eyes were fixated on your very naked figure, tongue darting over his lips as he stared you down like a lion does to its next meal. jonathan looked at you as if to ask “should we continue?” and you merely nodded. 

“don’t make her wait, crane.” jackson scoffed, smirking at the two of you.

jonathan looked at jackson one more time before he licked a fat, long stripe up your cunt, causing you to moan. jackson’s jaw clenched at the sounds of your pleasure — he’d almost never got you to moan like that even while he was inside of you.

and here his brother was getting you to toss your head back with just one lick up your cunt? unbelievable.

jonathan continued to lick your cunt deliciously, swirling his tongue around your clit as he sucked it gently. the noises you were making had jonathan’s cock straining in his pants — and if he could hear one thing for the rest of eternity, it would be the sound of your wet, squelching cunt and your moans mixed together.

he continued to lap up your wetness as you breathlessly moaned his name like he was your boyfriend. like you loved him.

“all yours,” you gasped, “s’all y-yours, jon.” 

“that’s right.” jonathan said, voice muffled as he continued to devour your dripping cunt. “that’s fucking right.” 

a few more licks from him and you were done for. your stomach tightened as you were close to coming, and all he did was use his mouth — not even his fingers. your head was spinning as you let out shallow, quick breaths, creaming on his face. 

jonathan got up from between your legs after you came, wiping his face with the sleeve of his button down. jackson looked like he’d seen a ghost — how’d jonathan get you to cum so quickly?! of course, jackson would never say it aloud, but he was fuming. 

jonathan started to unbuckle his belt as you stared up at him desperately, eyes solely focused on him instead of jackson. much to jackson’s dismay, you looked at jonathan with a hunger that he’d never seen on your face before. 

sibling rivalry, anyone? 

as jonathan was undoing his belt and trying to get his rock hard cock free from his pants, you glanced over at jackson with a shit-eating grin on your face. 

“d’you wanna join?” you asked.

“fuck yes.” jackson replied before you even finished asking, making you shake your head. 

“i’ll suck you off — but that’s it.” you told him. “you lost your privilege to fuck me.”

that seemed to be enough for jackson because he was rushing over, taking his pants off in a rush. you looked back at jonathan who was lining his cock up with your drooling cunt, causing your jaw to drop.

they may have been the same height, but it seemed that jonathan had a couple inches on jackson. 

jonathan stroked himself a couple times (which you were drooling over)  before he rubbed the tip of his thick cock in your dripping folds. he pushed himself in gently, making you let out the dirtiest noise you’d made by far this evening, your head dropping backwards and your back arching upwards. 

“oh my god.” you gasped, and jonathan’s hands found purchase on your waist as he gently held onto you. 

“you’re doing so well, darling — so pretty, aren’t you?” jonathan cooed gently, moving in and out slowly as he let your cunt adjust to his thickness. 

jackson had managed to get out of his pants, his cock leaking already as he tapped it against your lips a few times. classy, you thought as you rolled your eyes. you wrap a hand around the base of jackson’s cock as you take him into your warm mouth. 

as soon as jackson felt your lips around his cock, he was groaning and reaching up to tangle his hands in your hair — but you slapped his hand away. he almost looked offended, but he stayed quiet as he continued to let out heavy breaths and occasional groans. 

you moaned around jackson’s cock as jonathan picked up his pace, almost knocking the wind out of you with how full he made you feel. the tip of his cock was brushing up against your cervix, and your velvety walls were clenching around his thickness — you could’ve sworn you felt him in your stomach.

“mmmmph!” you moaned around jackson, to which he looked down at you — gritted teeth and all.

you took a moment to breathe, popping jackson out of your warm mouth for a second as a string of saliva connected your lips to his cock. jackson stared down at you with blown out pupils, jacking himself off in your face as his cheeks were flushed. 

“s-so big!” you squeaked, tightening up around jonathan’s fat cock. “gonna — f-fuck! — i'm gonna cum!”

“what a good girl,” jonathan praised softly, “fuuuck — you’re so tight, darling. my god.” 

jackson jerked himself off to the sight of you getting fucked by his brother of all people — and before you ask; yes, he was ashamed. he’d never seen you like this before; so fucking needy and so desperate for cock.

not even his cock, but rather jonathan’s. 

he watched in disbelief as you came around jonathan’s thick cock, but what made his jaw drop was when you squirted all over jonathan’s white button down. you drenched the doctor's shirt, whining and trembling as you came hard and fast for him, unlike you ever did with jackson. 

“look at that,” jonathan said as he marvelled at the sight, “feels that good, pretty girl?”

“uh-huh, y-yes!” you incoherently scream, and jonathan almost came at the sight of you like this alone.

it was no secret he always found you breathtaking — beautiful, actually — but seeing you coming for him, squirting on his shirt was something else. it was heavenly, and jonathan was convinced that you’d gone for the wrong brother. 

it should’ve been him — he was certain that he could please you right, treat you right, and love you right. 

unlike his selfish lover of a brother, he wouldn’t dare break your heart.

“a-and by the way, jackson.” you huffed, letting out a few choked moans as jonathan rammed his fat cock into your sticky, warm cunt. “you will never get to touch this pussy again. you will — ugh, y-yes jon — never get to have me again.”

“shut your fucking mouth—” jackson started, but jonathan shut him down real quick.

“fuck off, jackson.” jonathan huffed, his anger fueling the way he was fucking you (not that you were complaining!). “you’re lucky you even had her to begin with.” 

the way jonathan was talking about you — defending you — was making you shamelessly wetter by the second. jackson shut his mouth, tapping two fingers against your cheeks to try and get you to open up again, but you kept your mouth shut. 

you clawed at jonathan’s clothed biceps as he brutally pounded your pussy, causing you to scream his name out over and over as jackson grew angrier and angrier. it’s not like he could do anything now, though — it was a little late for that.

“i’m close,” jonathan groaned, “gonna fucking fill this tight cunt. make you mine.” 

“p-please!” you begged, gasping for air. 

“fuck, i’m close too — come on, please. suck me off so i can cum.” jackson pleaded, and you’d never thought you’d see the day where jackson rippner of all people would actually beg.

“n-no.” you choked out through broken moans as jonathan fucked his cum into you. “y-you — fuuuck — already got to cum with my replacement earlier today. too f-fucking bad.” 

“she’s not you, though!” jackson desperately begged, stroking himself faster, but you grabbed his wrist and stopped him. 

“i fucking know.” you growled, moving your head as far away as you could from him.

jackson came all over his own fist, white ropes of cum covering his hand as he scowled at you.

jonathan came to a still with a low groan, his cum seeping into your abused cunt as he buried his face into your neck. you wrapped your arms around him gently, holding him close as he peppered soft kisses on your face lovingly. 

the difference between the two twins was astonishing. 

jonathan pulled out as he watched his cum leak from your spent hole, and jackson sat on the bed silently, grabbing tissues and wiping his hand off. 

jonathan, being the gentleman that he is, helped you get cleaned up and slipped you into your robe as you lay down on your bed with him.

jackson grabbed the rest of his belongings, getting dressed as he made his way out in silence. clearly, you not letting him finish in your mouth left a sour taste in his. jonathan chuckled quietly from beside you in bed, looking over at you with a small smile.

“so,” jonathan said, playing with your hair gently, “how about i show you how much better it is when someone loves you in all the right ways, my darling?”

@girlinterrupted505 @ciriceimpera @jordyn-yeager @thevelvetvampyre @galactict3a

@xanaxiii @nocturnest @psylrd @bloodandglitter207 @humbuginmybones 

@oceanstem @futurefamousdeadmusician @jonathancraneslittlepet @dolleyednymphette @kpopgirlbtssvt 

@ll4n4 @ilovetoxicfictionalmen @the-buddy-things @ellebelleshelby @wiseyouthinfluencer 

@aprilsfrog05 @minedofmoria @strangeobsessed @5tud10-54r4h @franzine-xii 

@stsrfujid @psylrd @eyraaaaaae @nyxxie-pooh @momoewn

@fauxcongenialite

[cinnamon-galaxies]

Incorrect Alastor x Reader Quotes — NSFW

18+ || Minors DNI!!!

●・○・●・○・●

Alastor: We should get you to a doctor for a check up immediately. What if it happens again, and there isn’t anyone around to help you? What if it’s congenital? Oh my God! Was it me? Did I hurt you? Reader: …You realize any other person that made their partner pass out on bed would simply feel really proud of themselves, right?

●・○・●・○・●

Reader: Heh, Alastor sneezes like a girl. Alastor: How about I pound you like boy? Alastor: That didn’t come out right.

●・○・●・○・●

Alastor: Look, last night was a mistake. Reader: A sexy mistake. Alastor: No, just a regular mistake.

●・○・●・○・●

Reader: *banging a pen on the table out of frustration* Alastor: Stop that. How would YOU feel if I banged you on the table? Reader: I— Reader: I don’t know the correct answer to that question.

●・○・●・○・●

Alastor: What’s sexting? Reader: I'm not having this conversation with you.

●・○・●・○・●

Alastor: There are 20 letters in the alphabet, right? Reader: Nope, there's 26. Alastor: Ah, I must have forgotten U, R, A, Q, T. Reader: Aww, that's cute, but you're still missing one. Alastor: You'll get the D later.

●・○・●・○・●

Reader: What are you in the mood for? Alastor: World domination. Reader: That's a bit ambitious. Alastor: You are my world. Reader: Aww... Alastor: Reader: Alastor: Reader: OH.

●・○・●・○・●

Reader: What’s your body count? Alastor: Do you mean sex or murder?

●・○・●・○・●

Alastor: look Reader, I'm not slut shaming you but... Alastor: Actually yeah, I'm TOTALLY slut shaming you.

●・○・●・○・●

Reader: Hey, I’m getting in the shower. Wanna help me out? Alastor: ...Have you never taken a shower before?

●・○・●・○・●

Alastor: Well, Reader and I finally did it! The rest of the squad: *gasps, shocked expressions, etc.* Alastor: That's right... We kissed!

●・○・●・○・●

Reader: I like your new pants! Alastor: Thanks, they were 50% off! Reader: I’d like them better if they were 100% off. *winks* Alastor: The store can’t just give away clothes for free. Reader: Thats’s… not what I meant. Alastor: That’s a terrible way to run a business, Reader.

●・○・●・○・●

Alastor: I feel like doing something stupid. Reader: I’m stupid, do me.

●・○・●・○・●

[akindplace]

this is your reminder that being sick is morally neutral. it doesn’t make you “useless” because you’re not able to do certain things. it doesn’t make you a worthless person. it doesn’t mean you should just power through all the time so you don’t “become a burden” to the point you get even sicker. and if there is someone in your life shaming you for being sick, i hope you know they’re wrong. these values that we often believe in about our own productivity are not making society any better, they are usually leading a lot of people into burnout.

you’re not a commodity. you’re not what you can produce. even machines break down when they don’t get checked out enough. go to a doctor if you need to, don’t just power through until you collapse. being fatigued and sick is not a morally bad thing. it’s something that can happen to anyone, and these things have been happening to a lot of people. you’re not alone in this, and you’re not less valuable than anyone else.

[just-antithings]

Anti-ism is psuedoscience and a moral panic rolled into one

One of the most dangerous things about therapyspeak leaving the intended audience is that now antis feel fully qualified to tell survivors how they should and should not be coping, even to the point of attempting to override/contradict the advice of certified therapists.

I've had antis tell me the fiction I enjoy writing is retraumatizing myself, that I am doing harm by writing it; when I responded that actually, my therapist signed off on the stories I wrote (even when I mentioned the specific phrase "consensual nonconsent"), they said that my therapist doesn't know what she's talking about since she sanctioned my coping mechanism and explicitly labels her practice as kink-positive. Antis are attempting to make me, a survivor with mental illness that could ultimately be fatal if I leave a psychologist's care, disregard the advice of the medical professional supervising me when they have no certification at all. This could, if I were a more vulnerable person, be dangerous for not only my trust in my therapist, but it could sabotage my treatment as well.

They are using what amounts to little more than memes, based on misinformation, that use a few intelligent-sounding phrases that very rarely apply the way they think they do, as a wedge to attempt to assert themselves as authorities who can, with certainty, dictate the appropriate course of treatment for a total stranger, including telling them to disregard the therapies administered by a trained professional.

In other words? Antis are frighteningly similar to anti-vaxxers, who took medical terminology they didn't understand, applied it to shaky cause-effect logic models, started a moral panic, used statements generated by that moral panic as a citogenesis-fueled proof their initial starting of the moral panic was justified, damaged the doctor-patient relationship of millions of total strangers, jeopardized the healthcare of those strangers who now believed their doctor to be incompetent for following accepted medical best practice, and fomented dangerous fringe political ideologies that coupled themselves to other conspiracies based on rejecting commonly-acknowledged practices.

"Vaccines cause autism! Narrative therapy that implements any form of controversial kink causes retraumatization of the writer, reader, or both, and starts the writer on an inescapable slippery slope to becoming an abuser themself! It's better to be dead than autistic! It's better to suffer feelings of shame and/or isolation in silence than it is to use fiction to put a voice to your feelings! Your child is vaccine-damaged from thimerosal and is getting sick from virus-shedding! Your fiction caused me to groom myself and you're a porn-addicted monster for not facing your trauma the proper way! Your doctor doesn't know what's good for you, I do! Only I understand how your body/mind work and what treatment is appropriate for you! Your doctor has been manipulated by Big Pharma/kink supporters! The empirical-study-informed best practices for pediatrics/psychology are what's wrong, not me, whose research is carefully informed by TikTok videos and Twitter posts carefully formulated to cause amygdalar growth to keep me afraid so I will continue to engage with fear-mongering content that causes my politics to shift towards the alt-right, who coincidentally also push narratives based in fear, not in medicine! I am being perfectly logical here!"

Antis fundamentally reject empirical medicine just the way anti-vaxxers do. They just seem to get a free pass on it since it's "only" mental healthcare they are sabotaging, and few people acknowledge it as something as legitimate and lifesaving as other medical care.

[jointherebellion215]

Flowers

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x female!reader

Summary: You're living a perfectly content life on Geidi Prime with your husband. It's a shame your mind can't rest, sparked by glimpses of a life unknown. Loosely based on the song from Hadestown.

Word Count: 1.5k

TW: Dark!Feyd-Rautha, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, yandere!Feyd-Rautha, manipulation, gaslighting, like SO much gaslighting holy shit, descriptions of violence, abusive relationship, emotional abuse, isolation, tragedy, nonconsensual drug use, nonconsensual medical treatement, induced memory loss, amnesia, dubious consent, pregnancy, songfic, happy-but-not-really-happy ending, I know I said female!reader but there's virtually no pronoun usage or descriptive words in thisfor the reader besides titles so maybe GN!reader??

A/N: I'm blown away, almost 500 notes on His Kiss, the Riot? Holy shit, all of the thanks! Here it is, the final part! I'm ending it with the song that actually started this whole idea. Listening to Eva's interpretation of Eurydice singing Flowers gave me the most delicious, fucked-up bit of inspiration and this came out. I was clutching my own metaphorical pearls writing this cause damn, this gets dark. Like, way more than I thought I could write. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the end of this twisted tale. Thank you for reading! As always, I appreciate you taking the time to like, comment, and reblog.

Read Part One and Part Two

AO3

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Dune properties, characters, or storylines-- nor do I own anything related to Hadestown. The images used in this are not my own, and any similarities to stories or events other than what are directly referenced are strictly coincidence.

Lily white and poppy red

I trembled when he laid me out

“You won’t feel a thing,” he said, “when you go down”

Nothing gonna wake you now

Drops of blood. 

A wicked, black smile.

“You won’t feel a thing.” 

You wake up with a gasp. Your doctor had warned you about dreams like this. They weren’t real, just an aftereffect of your accident.

The medical staff for House Harkonnen had been gracious enough to inform you of your predicament. When your family had recently hosted the Harkonnens, you quickly met and fell deeply in love with the na-Baron Feyd-Rautha. Your love for each other was so intense that you had demanded to get married right away. Your father disapproved of the union, so he disowned you and banished you, demanding to never see you again.

On the journey back to Geidi Prime, a stray asteroid hit the ship and caused you to hit your head. Feyd had apparently worried for your life, which saddened you and warmed your heart. It was nice to know that someone truly cared for you. However, your mind wasn’t quite the same afterwards. Your life before Geidi Prime was completely unknown to you. Your memories were in a fragile state.

That was just a few months earlier. Unfortunately, your mind has not yet recovered your memories prior to the accident. You were diligently taking a specially brewed tea that would calm your mind so it wouldn’t fracture under the immense pressure to try and fix itself. When you asked how long it would take for you to recover, your heart cracked when they said that it may take the rest of your natural life.

While it broke your heart to hear of your father’s dismissal of your feelings, you believed that you were strong enough to carry on. Having no further ties to your home world made it better to settle in with your new family.

You are a Harkonnen now.

Now, your footsteps make the quietest of echoes as you traipse down the narrow corridor. Heads of nearby servants and slaves bow, and eyes snap to the floor as you pass by. You feel the barest of sympathies, for not being allowed the simplest of human connection with their na-Baronness. But it was paradise considering the consequences should anyone ever feel bold enough to try otherwise.

Your husband wouldn’t allow that.

Dreams are sweet, until they’re not

Men are kind, until they aren’t

Flowers bloom, until they rot and fall apart

“Can I not have a single friend on this planet?!”

You burst into your shared chambers, rage rushing through your veins. All you had wanted was to have lunch and tea with one of the few female palace advisors you had taken a liking to. Maybe share a laugh or a story. Make a connection outside of your new family. That was all ruined when Feyd barged in and gutted your companion, stomach-to-throat, while she sat in her chair.

You were sure that your shoes had trailed blood down the hallway, but your mind was focused elsewhere at the moment.

“What use would you have for friends? I am right here.” He closed in on you, grasping your arms and forcing you to look in his direction. “Am I not enough for you? Do I not give you everything you should ever desire?”

His hands tighten around your wrists, making you flinch. A stray tear falls from your eyes, guilt starts to overcome your anger.

“No, not at all, husband! You have given me everything I could have wished for and more,” You wrench your hands out of his grip and grasp his face. He showered you with gifts, never let you go hungry or thirsty and this is how you repay him? “I just… I didn’t think you would want to hear me talk about certain things. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

“I know you don’t, my darling.”

You take a deep breath as you feel the tension in the room start to settle.

“Your mind is already fragile from the accident… I just want to keep you safe.”

Safe. That was the key here. He takes step back and retrieves a small dagger from his belt.

Feyd holds it up, showing you the weapon. “Did you know that your friend had a blade dipped in poison strapped onto her person?”

You can feel the blood rushing from your face. No. You didn’t know.

“I-I didn’t see a knife on her. She couldn’t have-“

“She did.”

He drops the blade and leans in closer to you, forehead aligning with yours. “There are people out there who seek to harm you, who seek to harm me through you. I can never let that happen.”

You nod furiously. You couldn’t believe that you had been so stupid. 

Trust is unbelievably hard to come by in the Galactic Imperium. Your few months’ worth of memories can even attest to that. It seems that the only people you can truly rely on is family.

“I only want what’s best for you.”

You understand now.

Is anybody listening?

I open my mouth and nothing comes out

Another argument discussion had emerged from your telling of your latest dream. Your husband was convinced that you were entirely too exhausted to put any stock into what your subconscious was telling you, but you thought otherwise.

Fingers run through a patch of bright pinks, yellows, and blues—

“I swear to you, it felt so real! It was almost like a memory, like something I-,” A firm hand is placed on your shoulder as you give a slight stumble. Feyd puts a hand on your back, leading you to the edge of your bed, setting you on the bench that was placed against the footboard.

“Please, have some of your morning tea, my darling. You look a bit peaked.” You accepted the cup he gave you, settling down and taking a few sips of the warm, spiced drink. Your mind instantly calms, anxieties evaporating from your body like puffs of smoke. Never mind the memories that you had just… Floating.

Your husband is now on one knee in front of you, arms encasing your body, as his hands cup your face. He brings your eyes to meet his, seemingly searching. For what? You do not know.

“What were you saying about this dream of yours?” A pause reverberates throughout the room as your head tilts in confusion.

“My…?” You stutter, mouth opening to complete a thought that was no longer entirely there. “I can’t quite remember. What were we talking about?”

Your husband gives a smirk, analyzing your face once more before placing his hand on the dark fabric covering your swollen belly.

“Nothing of import. It seems that my heir is set on scrambling your thoughts.”

There seemed to be nothing in this world that brought more joy to Feyd-Rautha’s face than the sight of you and his unborn child. He’s more protective of you now than ever, having guards always posted near you, having you wear a shield during all public appearances. Not to mention, he was damn near insatiable in private. His hands and mouth are practically dragged away from you and your growing stomach every morning.

You give a chuckle. “I’d heard about pregnancy brain before, but never knew it to be this taxing! Perhaps I’ll take a walk later if I’m feeling up to it.”

Feyd gives your cheek a soft pat before rising to his feet, “Rest, my darling. I shall check in on the both of you later.” His hand rests next to yours, giving your belly a quick rub before he walks towards the door.

Your head goes to set on your pillow, the warmth from the tea running through your body. You must be really tired, since you fall asleep so quickly.

Quick enough to not hear the deadbolt lock clicking from the outside once the door is closed.

Flowers, I remember field of flowers

Soft beneath my heels

Walking in the sun, I remember someone

Someone by my side, turned his face to mine

The dreams start to encroach your mind while you are awake. You continue to follow your doctor’s instructions: take your daily tea, rest often, don’t overexert your body or your mind. But, ever persistent, they push through, finding parallels with your daily life to latch onto.

A hand, gently enlaced with yours, guides you through a meadow—

You husband’s hands lead you to stand with him by his uncle’s side, preparing for another ceremony.

A laugh, familiar and warm—

A chilling cackle of laughter reaches you in your viewing box, watching your husband gleefully slay another adversary in the arena.

Bright, yellow sunlight caressing your face and neck—

The black sun of Geidi Prime pulses in your periphery as you wave to a crowd below, your husband standing stoically next to you.

A kiss, given freely—

Feyd ravishes you in your chambers, lips melding together with yours.

My darling—

My love—

My darling—

My darling—

My darling—

My darling—

My darling—

“Is everything alright, my darling?”

You blink, snapping back to the present. Pale, smooth skin and blue eyes, your husband extends his hand towards you. Safe. He gives you everything. You and your child will never struggle or suffer with him. You are safe with him. Aren’t you?

Blood splatters over a patch of bright pinks, yellows, and blues—

You give a bright smile.

If you ever walk this way

Come and find me lying in the bed I made

[avocad1s]

Trial By Combat - 2

Requested By: No One. Original Work.

CW: Impostor SAGAU, Mentions of Punishment, Angst,

Summary: Fontaine fears for your fate.

Note: You all really loved the first part and a lot of people wanted a continuation so I shall provide

If you haven’t finished the Fontaine Archon quest, please exit stage left.

Part One Part Three Part Four

Ever since the day of the duel, it has been raining nonstop in Fontaine.

It was as if the entire nation came to a standstill; many shops refused to open their doors, no trials were being held, and the Hydro Archon hadn't been seen since she falsely accused the Creator of Teyvat.

As doctors quickly carried you away with Clorinde following quickly behind, citizens waited impatiently for any news of your recovery, this sight of you bleeding profusely still plaguing their minds.

The Champion Duelist refused to leave your side even after doctors did everything they could, she sat in the chair waiting for the moment you open your eyes. She wonders what you will do once you do wake up, could you find it in your heart to forgive her? To forgive Fontaine entirely? Regardless what you decide, she is ready to accept it graciously.

Clorinde looks down at her gloved hands, the white cloth that was stained with your golden blood only a week ago. This was the second time she had struck down an innocent, was this the justice she was fighting for? Even if it meant painting the floor with her Creator’s blood? She lets out a sigh as she looks back at your sleeping form, the pattering of rain on the window doing nothing to ease the swirl of emotions within her chest.

-

Although everyone was praying for you to have a speedy recovery, there were some people who demanded answers from their Archon.

“She is supposed to be the God of Justice.”

“How could she not recognize the Creator themselves?”

Focalors refused to show her face in public, she had no answers for her actions, this wasn’t something she could lie about until everyone believed her. This was something that could have true consequences, she couldn’t even be angry if her fellow Archons came to stike her down due to her transgressions.

Only during the dark of night is when she went outside, even though Clorinde had been watching over you this entire time, she had to see how you were doing with her own eyes. Furina kneels by your bed and grasps your hand, she weeps out heartfelt apologies until she couldn’t any longer.

Suddenly she picks her head up, she wipes the wetness from her cheeks as she looks at your face.

“Your Grace?” She says softly, the exaggerated tone no where to be found.

Your hand moves slightly in hers and now she knows she wasn’t hallucinating, “are you awake?” Your eyes open slowly causing the Archon to cry even more as she stands to look at you better.

The door to the room opens as Clorinde and Neuvillette enter, their eyes just as wide as their Archons. The two rush to your side as you try to sit up in bed a rush of pain coursing through your body.

“You should be careful Your Grace,” Clorinde mutters, “we don’t want you to tear open your stitches.”

“Why am I here?” You manage to rasp out gazing at all of their faces. Neuvillette grabs the glass of water next to your bed handing it to you, the water was room temperature, but it was still refreshing to drink.

Furina, who was the most expressive out of the three furrows her eyebrows, “huh? What do you mean?”

“I should’ve died out there..” you mumble. Clorinde looks down in shame.

“I’m apologize Your Grace,” Furina says still holding your hand, “I am a fool, I should’ve recognized you the second you entered Fontaine but instead I…” she trails off.

You stare at her, the look on her face showing just how remorseful she felt, but you couldn’t forgive her. You couldn’t forgive any of them. Not yet at least.

“You gave me no chance to explain myself, I was guilty in your eyes the second I entered your nation.” You pull your hand out of hers causing her to frown slightly.

“I thought that something was amiss but-“

“Then why didn’t you come to my defense? You knew there was no way I could win but you still did nothing. You made no attempt to stop the fight.” You interrupt Neuvillette.

He stops mid-sentence, his nonchalant expression never changing as he fails to meet your gaze. “I’m sorry.”

You throw the blanket off your body, the cold air causing goosebumps to appear on your exposed legs.

“Your Grace it’s not a good idea to stand! Your wounds are still healing.”

You ignore Clorinde’s warnings as you stumble to your feet, your hand rests on your torso to ease the throbbing sensation in it.

“All of you leave, I don’t want to talk to anyone right now.” You say coldly.

“Please allow us to help you back in bed.” Furina reaches out to place her hand on your shoulder.

“I can take care of myself, just get out.” You snap.

The Archon flinches slightly but she nods and sighs. Without any other objections, Clorinde and Neuvillette leave the room. Furina trails slowly behind them, as she reaches the threshold she looks back at you one last time before whispering, "I will return to see you in the morning, I hope that's okay."

Once the door clicks you turn your gaze to the window noticing that it was still raining, maybe even harder than before. You exhale as you sit on the windowsill resting your body against the glass as you watch the droplets race down onto the ledge outside.

‘Hmm, doesn't look like the rain is gonna stop anytime soon…’ you think to yourself.

-

© avocad1s 2023

Tagging: @bittersweetorpheus @esthelily

[steddiealltheway]

Eddie stares up at his ceiling bored out of his mind. He’s not technically completely on bed rest from the bat injuries, but he’s not allowed to do anything too strenuous. It’s ridiculous though really. He’s basically all healed with his ugly scars that make up a good portion of his body, but whenever the kids see them, they tell him to lay back down.

It’s stupid really. This is not how he thought playing the hero would end. Well… honestly he hadn’t thought that far ahead before, but now…

He groans and sits up ignoring the way his side slightly aches, but he needs to call the one person who actually knows what’s he going through. He makes his way down the hall and to the phone where he dials a number he had memorized months before.

After the second ring there’s a voice that answers, “Harrington residence.”

Eddie sighs, “How do you overcome the never ending boredom of our condition? I can’t be laying in bed all day, man.”

There’s a laugh on the other line. “It’s good hearing from you. How are you doing?” Steve asks, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

It somehow pulls a smile on his face in the way only Steve can. “Not great, man. Better though now that I’m talking to you,” Eddie flirts shamelessly.

“Same here. But hey, I’ve actually been spending some time in my pool. The doctor told me that swimming isn’t too strenuous as long as I’m not doing laps back and forth like I used to. You should stop by sometime. Exercise usually gets my mind off things. Even floating around in the pool helps.”

Eddie let’s Steve’s voice wash over him and soothe all the aches in his body. Swimming or floating sounds nice, but being around Steve sounds even better. “I’ll stop by sometime then definitely.”

“Let me know if you need a ride or anything, alright? No shame in that.”

Eddie tried to hold back a sigh. He hates that people feel the need to take care of him after he’s handled himself all these years. “I’ll be fine, but thank you. When should I come by?”

“Literally whenever you want, man. I’d appreciate the company,” Steve replies sounding almost desperate for Eddie to stop by. It makes Eddie smile.

“I’ll see you some time soon then,” Eddie replies with a smile.

“Sounds great,” Steve says like he’s smiling equally as much as Eddie.

Eddie lets his heart yearn a little longer as he hears Steve breathing on the other line. He doesn’t want to say goodbye, he just wants to stay in this moment as long as he can. He hears a shuffle on the other line then the steady breathing again.

These are the moments that confuse Eddie the most. Whenever they call and they just linger on the line when they know the conversation should end just like the linger in each other’s space whenever they’re physically around each other. It makes Eddie’s heart race, but he tries to fight it. Steve isn’t into him like that. Sure, he stares at his lips a lot and lets him flirt with him and even sends him winks but… it’s not like that.

Steve deserves someone gorgeous. Some girl that isn’t covered in scars and missing their left damn nipple. Eddie sighs.

“You okay?” Steve asks. Eddie nearly jumps as he forgets Steve is still able to hear him on the other line.

“Yeah, man. Just…” Eddie trails off and runs a hand over his face before pulling the phone down and thudding his head back against the wall. “I think I love you,” Eddie mumbles, making sure the phone is far away and muffled against his stomach. He pulls it back up and continues. “I just have to go, but I’ll definitely take you up on your offer if it still stands.”

“Pool is always open for you, Eddie.”

The way he says his name sends chills down his spine. Fuck. “Thank you. I’ll talk to you soon I hope.”

“I hope so, too. Bye Eddie.”

“Bye Steve,” Eddie says and hangs up as soon as he can and gasps for air. Damn Harrington for making him so breathless.

He makes his way back to his room and digs through his drawers for his old swim trunks that he prays still fit. He finds them and pulls them on. He frowns.

They fit okay, but that’s not the problem. His scars are exposed in a way that make him want to cover up completely and never let Steve see this side of him. He feels… he sighs and looks away from his scars. He grabs the nearest shirt he can and tugs it over his head. He can just swim with it on. The scars of his ankles and legs are fairly small and less gruesome so he’ll be fine exposing them.

He turns to look in his mirror but stops. He knows if he sees himself, he won’t go to Steve’s. He knows the man won’t judge him but… looking won’t help convince him of that.

So, without taking another moment to consider, Eddie grabs his keys and wallet, slips on his shoes, and heads out of his trailer. It’s weird to be out in daylight with his scars partially on display, but he needs this.

The drive over is fairly quick. He bypasses the front door and just starts heading to the backyard. He hears the water splashing a bit before he’s greeted with the sight of Steve slightly wading around the shallow end.

“Hey,” Eddie calls out, startling Steve. “Sorry,” Eddie says with a smile, “When you said anytime, did that mean today?”

“Of course, of course,” Steve says making his way to the steps of the pool. He may have said something else but all Eddie hears is his own conscious chanting Speedo, Speedo, Speedo.

And it is a lovely sight. Christ.

Eddie’s eyes fight to try to stay up. It helps when Steve snatches a towel off a nearby chair and wraps it around his waist. “Sorry,” Steve says sounding unapologetic.

“Don’t be,” Eddie flirts.

Steve winks and flirts back, “Sadly today wasn’t a skinny dipping day.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Eddie mutters under his breath. He hopes the water is cold.

“I’ll grab an extra towel for you, just give me a minute,” Steve says with a smile and heads inside.

Eddie takes a few deep breathes, removes his shoes, and sits by the edge of the pool, dipping his feet in. It’s warm.

The back door opens and Steve returns with a towel and two beers. Eddie makes grabby hands at the beer and Steve complies by opening one and giving it to him.

The cold liquid makes Eddie feel a little more alert as he stares at his feet in the water. He feels like his wet shirt against his body is going to be a harsh, uncomfortable reminder of swimming in the lake behind Reefer Rick’s place. He sighs and slowly starts removing his rings one by one before setting them by the poolside.

He slowly starts sliding forward into the pool but is stopped by a firm hand on his shoulder. “Gonna take your shirt off first?”

Eddie scoots back and sits on the edge. He takes a big swig of his beer before shaking his head. Steve sits next to him and softly says, “I’m not pressuring you or anything, but it’ll feel nicer to not have wet clothes clinging against the scars.”

Eddie sighs and puts his head in his hands. “I don’t want you to see them,” Eddie says honestly.

“Why not?” Steve asks not offended or pushing it, just prompting him to continue.

Eddie sits up and looks at his feet in the pool again. “I’m scared of your reaction. Scared that you’ll find them hideous and find me hideous. I hate those damn gasps every time one of the kids sees my shirt lift or someone sees part of my face when I go out. But to see it all at once… is a whole new beast.”

Instead of responding, Steve slips into the pool in front of Eddie, the water coming up to his hips. He grabs Eddie’s hands and places them on his scars. “And what do you think when you see my scars?” Steve asks.

Eddie glances up at Steve’s eyes and hesitantly looks down. His heart skips a beat as he stares at them. He traces his fingertips lightly over them. “I think of the way you got them. The way you sacrificed yourself for us and risked everything for everyone else. The way you got blood on my vest but I didn’t care. You still somehow managed to defeat Vecna with those wounds still open. God, Steve. They’re absolutely gorgeous.” And he means it. Every word of it.

Steve’s hands come to the hem of Eddie’s shirt and slightly tug up. Eddie releases a deep breath and lifts his hands over his head, letting Steve pull the shirt off. When he’s free from it, he sees Steve staring down at his torso, eyes flicker over the scars before he slowly rests his fingers on them. The skin is sensitive and Steve’s fingers are cold and slightly wet, so Eddie shivers.

“You wanna know what I see?” Steve asks. Eddie’s tongue rests on the top of his lip as he nods. “I see the marks that show the way you sacrificed yourself to try to save Dustin. To distract the bats from the rest of us, which saved the us and helped us defeat Vecna. The marks that almost took you from us which destroyed everyone. The same ones that bond us, and are used as an excuse so I can reach out to you when I want to. They’re the marks that remind me of everything that you are. And they’re absolutely beautiful, Eddie. You don’t ever need to hide them around me,” he finishes his little speech settling between Eddie’s legs with his hand resting over the scars on his face.

Eddie feels a single tear slip down his face and wipes at it. “Thank you,” he breathes out and rests his forehead against Steve’s. He knows in this moment that he has to tell Steve. And with all the honesty that he’s already laid out he’s able to confess, “Steve, this might ruin things between us, but… I’m in love with your scars as much as I’m in love with you.”

Steve pulls away and searches Eddie’s eyes before huffing out a laugh, “Damnit, you beat me to it. Because I am absolutely in love with you - all of you.”

Eddie smiles so wide that he can feel the scars on his face tug up before he slips into the pool and seals his lips over Steve’s. His arms come up and trace the scars on Eddie’s side and Eddie mirrors him as he kisses and kisses and kisses him.

When they pull away to catch their breath, Steve says, “Let me show you how much I love all of your scars.” Then, he peppers kisses over each of Eddie’s scars, and Eddie thinks he might be in heaven.

[toddchavezwatchescartoons]

Imagine if you had a lung problem but you didn't know that, so you go to the heart doctor by mistake.

Instead of recognizing that you don't have a heart problem and helping you figure out which doctor you should see, the heart doctor just keeps putting you on heart medications with increasingly harsh side effects.

Every time they decide a pill isn't working they just put you on a new one. If you question this process they accuse you of not wanting to get better and shame you into continuing.

When you ask if they can do some kind of actual medical testing to see what's wrong with you you're told that there are no tests. The pills are meant to treat a chemical imbalance that is supposedly causing your condition but that it's conveniently impossible to actually test your body for these chemicals.

If you decide that you don't have a heart condition, they lock you up and refuse to let you go until you smile and say "Yes doctor, I have a heart condition and I need this medication. Thank you so much doctor." several days in a row until they're convinced that you mean it it.

When a more responsible doctor does the testing they said didn't exist and diagnoses you with a lung condition, the heart doctors say "Well I don't study lung conditions so how was I supposed to help you?"

This is how psychiatry works.

[damiansgoodgirll]

please do damian cheating on reader!😩❤️

y’all want to cry i see 🤓🤓

damian priest x reader

likes, comments and reblogs are welcomed!

‼️ mention of sex, pregnancy, anxiety, infidelity and cheating, angst, body shaming, body issues, reader being self conscious

don’t hurt yourself

“i’m trying to save our family y/n!” damian screamed desperate, staring at the marriage counselor in front of him. she was watching with a deep look the scene in front of her. it wasn’t anything new to her but the way you both were behaving was making it hard for her to help.

“sure…you should have thought about that before fucking someone else damian…” you said, tears already dry.

one month ago

damian just came back from his wrestlemania trip. you would have loved to go but six months ago, you gave birth to your first baby and it was all new for you. you were still trying to get adjusted by how your body looked, how tired you constantly were and how scary the world suddenly became since you had your baby.

damian wanted you to go but he knew you didn’t trust anyone to babysit your daughter for so many days, so he didn’t force you.

the pregnancy changed your relationship a little bit, and, even if damian didn’t want to show it, it was affecting him a little.

it was your first pregnancy so he understood but still, he couldn’t get away from the feeling that something changed.

you became more paranoid, always scolding him for silly things, your mood was on a rollercoaster and the lack of sex between the two of you kept him on edge. your doctor told you that it was completely fine having sex during pregnancy but your anxiety made it impossible for you to have sexual contact with him. you tried and tried but you always had to stop him because it was hurting you.

damian always respected that but he couldn’t lie if he said that it wasn’t effecting him too. the whole nine months of your pregnancy, he felt like he was pregnant too.

he thought it would get better once your daughter was born but he was wrong.

you became more self conscious about your body, the way you looked and the struggle to keep a nice appearance up was hurting you. he didn’t know how to keep up with all of that.

he let himself go the night after he won at wrestlemania. he was partying and he was drunk and he didn’t want that, but, somehow he found himself naked, sleeping next to a complete stranger.

when he woke up his head was hurting but his heart almost stopped when he saw her, the stranger, sleeping naked next to him.

“no no no…” he whispered. he felt his heart breaking.

“good morning…” she whispered waking up. damian watched horrified the way she kissed his chest, only stopping at his lips when she saw the paralysed face he had “did you have fun last night?” she asked “or are you already regretting it?”

“what…how? i-i don’t remember…”

“you’re hurting me saying that you don’t remember our night together” she said, faking being hurt “you don’t remember what happened?”

“no…this, this shouldn’t have happened”

“but it happened damian…and it was too good” she said, smile on her face, remembering how good everything felt “you came up to me at the bar last night, you said how good i looked, how much you wanted to fuck me…then you went talking about how unhappy your marriage was becoming, how unhappy your little wife is, how ugly she think she is, witch, frankly, she’s quite right…you should give her some exercises to do to lose that baby weight she still carries by the way…” the stranger started blurting out “then you got quite boring so i had to shut you up with a kiss. that kiss definitely became something more, judging by the way we are both naked under the covers…” she smirked but all damian wanted to do was to vomit and hide away.

he couldn’t believe he just cheated on you.

he couldn’t believe he rambled to a complete stranger about your marriage, about you. your wedding wasn’t unhappy, sure things changed after your daughter was born and you both needed to work better on this whole family thing but he wasn’t unhappy with you.

he loved you and your daughter isabel more than anything.

“i need to go…” he said not remembering her name.

“sheila, my name’s sheila…” she smiled at him.

he quickly dressed up, took his bags and went straight at the airport, all he wanted to do was to stay with you and isabel, and hold you all night long.

rhea knew something was up the moment she saw damian’s face at the airport.

“man, you okay?” she asked him.

“i fucked up rhea…i fucked up” he said.

“what you mean?”

“i-i i can’t even say it…” he whispered “i slept with someone”

“what the fuck are you saying damian?” rhea almost screamed.

she was your best friend. the person who always stayed by your side during the whole pregnancy. maybe she wasn’t a mother but she understood what you were feeling, probably more than damian did. she understood your fears and never judged you. she stayed with you before you gave birth and right after it. she comforted you when damian didn’t, she held you while you cried your problems to her, too afraid of being rejected by the man you loved. she reassured you when you told her you felt ugly, when you told her that you wanted to change your appearance because you didn’t recognise yourself anymore.

she was there for you and you were always there for her, so, damian telling her that he just cheated on you, was a low blow.

“i’m so fucking sorry rhea…i don’t know how it happened” he said, regret evidently showing in his eyes.

“she needs to know” was all rhea said.

“don’t give the treatment silent rhea…please, i can’t handle it right now”

“what do you want to say? congratulations on cheating on my best friend? congratulations on cheating on your wife and mother of your daughter? that’s what you want me to say? i can’t even imagine what she’s going to feel when you tell her, she needs to know damian” rhea said before boarding flight.

the whole flight home damian thought about how to tell you that he cheated.

how can you tell the person you love the most that you just cheated?

his heart broke the moment he stepped inside your home.

you coming to greet him with isabel in your arms “isabel look, daddy’s home” you softly said smiling at him.

“where’s my big girl?” damian said pretending everything’s fine. he noticed how isabel wanted to be held by him so he gently took her from y/n’s arms and started rocking her.

“she missed you a lot” you said watching the sweet scene in front of you.

“and you didn’t?” he smirked.

“a lot” you smiled back “i’m so proud of you baby” you congratulated him and he smiled at you.

he took time after he came back home. he put isabel to sleep, he unpacked his bags, he took a long shower and he made love to you, hoping that in his mind, he could cancel his irreparable mistake.

a week passed and you couldn’t help but notice something was wrong. damian’s behaviour changed, he was more present and constant with his role - not that you minded but it wasn’t like him.

“what’s going on?” you asked one night after you put your daughter to sleep.

“what you mean?”

“i mean, what’s wrong? you’ve changed…after wrestlemania…something happened but i can’t figure out what” you said staring at him.

“i cheated…” he whispered.

you froze.

“you what?”

“i…i cheated i’m so fucking sorry y/n…i didn’t know how it happened, i didn’t want it to happen” he apologised, a few tears running down his cheeks.

you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. he just cheated on you. the man you loved, the man you married, the man you just started a family with just cheated on you.

“please say something…” he begged you.

tears falling down your face, your heart breaking in millions of pieces “what do you want me to say damian?” you sarcastically laughed “i just - i need some fresh air right now, i can’t even stand to be in the same room as you damian…isabel is sleeping in her room…”

“where are you going?” he asked you when he saw grabbing your car kids.

“away, i need to stay away from you right now” you said, more tears falling from your eyes.

“please…please don’t go…i’ll do anything, anything to gain your trust again…i’m so fucking sorry y/n” his eyes full of tears but you couldn’t be in the same room as him right now.

“i don’t care how sorry you are damian, i don’t give a shit. you want me to stay? fine. then you can go away, i don’t need you in this home, not right now damian…you just thrown away four years of marriage…we have a daughter, a daughter together…she’s only six months damian, how could you?” you cried all of your tears, not caring if you were screaming right now.

“i-i’m so sorry…”

“i don’t care! stop saying you’re sorry! i don’t give a shit! why? why did you do it?” you asked him.

“i-i don’t know…i was drunk okay? it was right after i won the title, i…was celebrating and - shit - i got drunk and you weren’t there”

“so now it’s my fault?”

“no…no, it’s not your fault y/n, that’s not what i said…” he tried to explain himself but only making it worse “it’s me, i’m the one who fucked up and you have no idea how sorry i am…i fucking love you and isabel more than anything, i love you so much y/n, i just made a huge mistake and”

“fucking someone else is not a mistake, it’s a choice…it’s a choice you made!” you kept screaming.

damian swore he never saw you so mad. you were usually the calm one in the relationship so seeing you so mad and angry was unusual for him.

“i know…i know and i’m…”

“don’t fucking say you’re sorry, don’t you dare damian…” you warned him “i can’t stay here with you right now, i can’t even look at you without feeling disgusted” you words broke his heart even more “you either go away or i take isabel and we’re going away…”

“don’t do this please…”

“you’re not giving me any choice damian…you made your choice that night, now you’re facing the consequences…it’s you or me and isabel, we can’t stay here all together like the happy family you want me to pretend to be…” you slowly dried your tears away.

“o-okay…i’ll go…but please, please, we can work this out together…please, i’m begging you y/n…i can’t lose you…” he said before leaving the house.

while he cried driving towards the hotel he just booked, you cried yourself to sleep, holding his pillow, and letting yourself fall asleep.

[as-is-above-so-below]

The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

Let's Have a Baby 2.0

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes call sign: Freyja warning: implied sexual content, MDNI Note: A special thank you to @lethalchiralium and @peachesofteal for workshopping with me, per usual, and for being the best beta! Enjoy and blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

Simon Riley did not cry when his first daughter was born.

He didn’t know how to process his grief amid his love’s agony and emptiness. She spent days on end, curled into the plush rocker in the corner of the empty nursery or lying flat on her back, staring at the white ceiling. His guilt was no match for her shame – as she clutched the tiny hospital blanket to her chest, sobbing that she couldn’t name her. Couldn’t name the daughter that they didn’t get to bring home.

Her wails – I’m sorry I’m weak, Please don’t hate me, I'm fucking useless – echoed in Simon’s mind when he named that baby. He knew, in his heart, that Freyja loved her with her entire being, everything she had. He knew that, if she could, she would have picked the most beautiful name, better than anything he could have come up with on his own. So he named her after his wife, so his daughter would never leave his mind.

When Joan Vanadís was born, Simon stared at her for hours. He memorized every detail of her soft features, inhaled her scent, and poured over her deep brown eyes and button nose. His wife barely got to hold her in her first day of life. Sure, he had cried, as many fathers do in the delivery room. He was completely unsure of how it was possible that he helped create this beautiful, innocent little person.

But his son, oh his son, was an entirely different animal.

Where Joanie came roaring into the world, Arthur Simon was quiet. Quiet like his father, but the spitting image of his mum, minus Simon’s curved nose (Poor thing, he thought). The gentle cry from such a delicate thing broke whatever terrified stupor he’d been in since learning that they were having a boy. The doctor placed the blue bundle on his wife’s chest, and he instantly broke down. The ‘big bad Ghost’ was a blubbering mess as their son’s small hand curled into her skin, his eyes closed, and his mouth curled into a frown. He hesitated, hand hovering over the boy until Freyja’s came and pressed his palm into the tiny body, much smaller than Joanie’s when she was born. The steady rhythm of Arthur’s little lungs working underneath his fingertips made something inside his chest snap and crumble into dust.

Whatever fear he had about having a son was gone. As he had promised their daughters, he again swore that he would be better. Better than his father. He promised he would raise Arthur the way he should have been.

In the months that followed, taking care of his son healed a piece of Simon Riley. A piece that needed the father he had fought so hard to be.

The newborn seemed to have that effect on people, particularly overgrown men.

Arthur’s godfathers and grandfather returned to England about three months after he was born. Johnny brought his partners by the second they stepped off the plane, not even offering time to dress down in civilian clothes.

König was the first in the house, carrying his and Roach’s duffels as Johnny snuck in a moment alone with their partner outside. Freyja appeared, almost making him jump out of his skin at her sudden appearance.

“Herrgott, Kapitän!” he cried, hand on his pounding heart. “You scared me.”

Freyja had Artie strapped to her chest, sucking happily on his pacifier as he stared up at her face. He was already a certifiable mama’s boy, always enamored with her and clinging to her at every waking moment (and then some). “Oh, thank god,” she sighed, unraveling the fabric from her waist and shoulders. “I need a nap.”

His eyes blew wide through the holes of his hood, and he quickly stepped back. “Nein, Freyja, ich will ihn erschrecken—”

“König, nimm deinen Patensohn.” She didn’t allow him any time to hesitate, pressing the baby against his chest. The Austrian immediately dropped the bags from his shoulders, wrapped one arm under the baby’s bum, and rested one large hand against his back.

“Freyja–!”

She was gone.

König desperately wanted to give him back. He couldn’t take the heartbreak of another kid, especially his own nephew, staring at him with pure terror, trying to get away to safety. But this child, a sweet thing, had easily and without hesitation reached for him when Freyja moved to hand him off. It was as if he already sensed that his mom would never hand him off to someone that didn’t have her full trust.

He had gotten used to Joan by that point, but she was almost a year old when he saw her last. And she was much bigger than the infant boy in his arms, done up in an (admittedly) adorable, light blue onesie, with stripes nearly resembling those of the Scotland flag (Soap most definitely bought it for that reason and that reason alone). What if he dropped him? What if he held him too tight? What if he moved and hit Arthur’s head on something? What if–

A small tug caught his attention, his mask shifting downward. König glanced down at the boy curiously pulling the thing toward his mouth, which he put a stop to. “Iss das nicht, welpe. Du weißt nicht, wo es war,” he whispered, using a finger to nudge Arthur’s fist away from his mouth.

They simply stared at each other, the man holding the baby’s gaze, surprised that the little one was tolerating it. Then in a shocking turn of events, Art jerked the fabric up and over his head, making cooing and gurgling sounds that resembled an attempt at a laugh. Both under the hood now, König froze for a moment, completely and utterly bewildered. No grown adult, let alone an infant, had ever warmed up to the giant so quickly, immediately. Artie made another noise, and beyond his control, tears started to flow freely down his paint-smudged cheeks, a huge smile lighting up their dark cavern.

As König sobbed and shook, he pressed his forehead against Arthur’s, trembling body clinging to his godson like a lifeline.

König didn’t know how long he stood there with gentle but clumsy hands palming his scars and features, reveling in the attention. He never wanted it to end. He didn’t fail to notice what felt like Ghost’s hand on his opposite shoulder, brief but definitely present; then, the familiar press of Johnny’s cheek between his shoulder blades and the imprint of his firm hands on his hips.

Yeah, you could say Arthur Simon had a gift for healing.

.

.

.

“Uh oh, Dada!”

Freyja chuckled at her husband’s exasperated expression, staring at the ceiling as the plastic cup bounced across the floor. Simon had spent the last ten minutes trying to slice up an orange for Joan, who, in that time, had thrown the loose cereal onto the floor, tossed her plastic fork across the room, and finally dumped the cup of water into his lap.

“Yeah, uh oh,” he sighed, bending to pick up the cup but not bothering with his now-soaked pants. “Lovie, I’m almost done. You have to be patient. We don’t throw things.”

“No!”

“Look, Joanie, here.” Simon broke a wedge off and held it out for her. Two little hands took the fruit, holding the rind as Joan gummed at the soft flesh. “Can you say, ‘Thank you, Daddy’?”

“No!”

“You’re welcome, baby.”

Arthur rested quietly in his mother’s arms with his cheek pressed against her breast as he dozed after finishing a bottle. Some mothers would have found Arthur’s level of attachment overwhelming; he rarely wanted to be put down, oftentimes crying out for her even when handed off to Simon. Similar to how Joanie gravitated to her father, Artie clung to her, and Freyja took pride in that.

When she looked up from her son, she found Simon had stripped out of his soiled sweatpants and now sat in only black boxer briefs. It was an unusually lazy day due to the poor weather outside. Simon got the kids up and fed at the usual time but didn’t do much to dress them, opting for fresh onesies. Joan’s was a dark navy, while Art’s was cream with mini tan teddy bears.

Joanie finished the orange slice quickly and placed the rind on her plate. She balled one hand into a fist and slapped the top with an open palm in a jerky movement. “Dada, more.”

“That’s right, ‘more’,” he praised, mimicking the sign for her. “Good job asking. Here.”

He placed the rest of her snack on the tray, and she immediately started nibbling at one. Simon leaned forward with his forearm on his knee, getting to eye level with the girl. “I’d really like an orange. Could you share with Daddy, lovie?” he asked while offering a hand. They had quickly learned to keep her hands occupied and practice hand-eye coordination in constructive ways, rather than letting her get bored. That was when she tended to start throwing things, as demonstrated by Simon’s now discarded pants.

She seemed to consider it, before dropping the piece she had already half finished in his palm and grabbing another.

“I meant one that wasn’t half-eaten, but this’ll do. Thank you.” He met Freyja’s eyes, his cheeks tight with laughter as he finished the fruit. 

The rain thundered against the glass windows, filling the space behind Joanie’s giggles at the funny faces Simon made. Her clothed feet kicked the legs of her chair. It was there – in their kitchen on a rainy Tuesday afternoon – Freyja realized just how content she was with the life they had built together. Observing her husband as he wiped the sticky juices dribbling down their daughter’s chin and pushed her blonde curls back; her touch brushing their son’s warm, squishy cheek with her thumb.

She soaked in the atmosphere a moment longer before speaking. “Simon?”

“Yeah, love?”

“I think Artie’s my last.” Her voice was quiet, almost unsure. They’d never really discussed just how many kids they wanted. Against his initial fears, Simon was a natural; he was just as much in his element taking care of their kids as he was on the battlefield. She didn’t want to take that away if he wanted more, but she honestly couldn’t go through it again. Recovering from a c-section royally sucked, but giving birth naturally was not an option.

Simon’s brows pinched together as he swiveled away from Joanie, searching her face. He watched how her careful fingers stroked Arthur’s face, her other hand wrapped around the baby’s thigh to secure him to her. Her touch slid down to his chest, measuring his tiny heartbeat and steady breaths. He often did the same with both of their children; the gesture grounded him in their reality, and he figured it did the same for her. “Alright,” he finally said. “I’ll call for an appointment to get snipped.”

He said it as if he were talking about grabbing a takeaway on his way home from work, which gave Freyja a slight shock.

“Just like that?” she asked, turning in her chair to face him better. “Are you sure?”

“You’ve given me three beautiful babies,” Simon cooed, reaching to drag his large hands up and down her thighs. Freyja melted into his touch, legs spreading so his knee could slot between hers. “S’the least I can do. If you’re done, so am I. I had a feeling, anyway.”

“A vasectomy just seems a bit extreme. Maybe we can just use condoms?”

He raised a brow at her with an upside-down grin, challenging her. “Do you wanna try that again, with feeling? Look me in the eye and tell me you’re never gonna let me cum in you, ever again?”

“...Birth control?”

“Remind me, how did we have our daughters?”

“I hate you.”

“But I’m right.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“Still right, though.” Simon rose from the table and leaned over her, resting his weight on one hand next to her thigh. He slipped the other around the back of her neck and tilted her head up, stealing a long, slow kiss. He muttered, “I’ll go next week,” against her lips before resuming, tongue gently prodding her bottom lip.

Freyja broke away and glanced up at him through her lashes with a teasing look. “You sure you can last that long without sex?”

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Ghost, Soap, and Gaz shipped out to replace the other half of the task force a few days later. They were only gone for two weeks, executing the final excursion to retrieve a stolen weapons cache. König, Roche, and Price had done most of the leg work but decided that the sergeants and lieutenant were better equipped for the situation at hand. 

Johnny’s demolition expertise certainly came in handy this time around.

Still, Simon was sore and aching for the comfort of holding his kids and wife after what felt like the longest two weeks of his life. It was their first time leaving both babies with the other parent since Arthur was born.

Unlike his last time returning from a mission, the house was quiet, which allowed him time to take his boots off at the door and shed his mask. König’s car was parked in their driveway, leading him to believe the operative was spending the night in their guest room. Whether Roach was there too, he didn’t know.

The hall light at the top of the stairs flicked on, and Freyja appeared in a silky nightgown, standing on the last step with a tired smile and messy hair.

Simon stopped at the bottom of the stairs and hummed while his eyes roamed her body with a dopey smile.

“Welcome back,” she whispered, locking her fingers behind his neck to tilt his head back, giving him access to slot their lips together. Freyja moaned quietly at the firm hands on her hips and thighs, gripping and digging into the soft flesh. “How’d it go?”

He shrugged and pressed another chaste kiss to her lips, humming against them. “No snags. Soap got to blow stuff up.” Simon’s mouth trailed down her jaw, throat, and chest, gentle and loving.

Her fingertips brushed a gash on his cheek. Most likely from shrapnel, if its depth and jagged edges were any indicators.

“M’fine, love.”

“Joanie’s out cold, but Artie’s awake if you wanna see him. I just finished feeding him.”

That woke him up a little bit. A soft breath of air tickled the wet spots on Freyja’s skin from his silent chuckle. Simon’s arms wrapped around her waist, and he nuzzled his face in her chest as he soaked in her presence. They’d gone more extended periods without seeing each other, but whether they were apart for a week or a few months, he still missed her like crazy.

“She doing better in her room?”

“Much. She’s having some nightmares but goes back down eventually. She’s having a good night.”

“Mmm, in that case, I won’t wake her. We can surprise her in the mornin’.”

When Freyja turned to lead him upstairs, he couldn’t help himself as his hand swung up and connected with her ass, a sharp CRACK! resonating through the air.

“Simon!”

“M’sorry, couldn’t help it. You left yourself wide open on that one,” he teased, his voice low to not wake their daughter or guests. As expected, Arthur’s quiet coos reached his ears the closer they got to their bedroom. Simon dropped his gear by their bedroom door and approached the bassinet on Freyja’s side of the bed. The little boy stared in his general direction, wiggling like a (precious) worm.

The man beamed down at him and carefully slid his hands under Artie’s back with his thumbs hooked under the infant’s arms, lifting him out of the crib. “Hi, beautiful boy,” he mumbled, pressing his pursed lips against his cheek, leaving multiple kisses in the same spot. He held his son back out for a moment, a confused expression on his face once he pulled away.

“Where’d it go?”

Freyja shifted to her knees on their bed and rested her chin on his shoulder, peering down at their son. “What?”

“The baby scrunch.”

“Huh. You’re right. I didn’t even notice.”

“I just…last time I held him, he still curled up. I missed it,” he said, a grown man literally pouting.

“I know…” She let her hands slide down from his shoulders to his chest. “I’m sorry, Si. I know it sucks. Being away comes with the job, and that means we miss things. We’ve been lucky so far with Joanie, honestly.”

Arthur had quieted down, sucking his pacifier as he studied Simon’s painted face and clinging to his shirt.

A knock at the doorframe caught their attention, and all three turned to the source. König rubbed the sleep from his eyes, bare feet padding across the carpet until he reached them. “Hello, Lieutenant. Did the operation bode well?”

“Yeah, everything was just as you said it – was…”

The baby had started to whine again and let go of his dad, reaching for his uncle with grabby hands. The man’s face flushed, but he didn’t make a move to take the baby. Once the shock wore off, Simon took the initiative to hand Art off, and König gladly received him.

He immediately settled again, laying his head back in the crook of König’s elbow, humming softly against his pacifier. “Hallo, welpe,” he said in a hushed tone, rocking his nephew gently.

“Well, that’s new,” Simon grumbled, sitting on the edge of the bed to avoid awkwardly standing there. Simon wasn’t too annoyed, but he was somewhat sad. He had missed his babies dearly and looked forward to some serious attention. But his usually shy baby, who never wanted to be handed off to anyone besides his mother and occasionally Simon, was suddenly choosing their friend over him.

How much had he missed in such a short amount of time?

“I apologize, sir. I am as surprised as you are. He’s a good boy; I think we have been around so much the last two weeks…”

“König.”

“Ja?”

“Drop the sir. We’re not on base. I’m not mad.”

König blinked at him, confused. “It’s… Scheiße, wie sagt man ‘gebräuchlich’ auf Englisch? Ich weiß es nicht. It is normal to use sir where I’m from.”

Simon glared back. “And this is my house. You’ve done as my wife has said to gain my son’s affection. So now, you will do what I say to get back in my good graces after robbing me of my child. Are we clear?”

“I feel…bad. Please, take him back–”

He shook his head and stood again, scratching at the light stubble that had formed on his cheeks over the last few days. “And I’m telling you, no. It’s fine. I have to shower anyway.”

“Alles klar.”

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[kaivenom]

Doctor's appointment

Summary: it's time for a semestral medical checking on the Heart's Pirate crew, but apparently the new member it's having an especial treatment.

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x reader

Warnings: porn with a little bit of plot, masturbation (m to f), smut (p in v), doctor appointment fantasy, pervert!Law

A/N: this is based on a dream i had so don't judge the plot holes, just enjoy the porn. This is one of my first times writing smut so i hope to get better with time.

Masterlist

Apparently, since the captain is also the doctor, it's required to do a medical checking for everything that could go wrong. Now it's the time to do it and you didn't know what to expect. Your other crewmates say that you didn't have nothing to worry about but they are men and you are a woman, you never know how things can go.

You took two deep breaths before entering Law's consult room, you feel yourself shaking nervously. He was sitting, legs crossed and looking a book.

"You finally arrived," your eyes met for a second, "get to the examination table.

You did as he said so, next to the talbe where to drawers, just if you could put your feet there.

"Wait, take of your clothes," you thanked that he didn't saw your face get red, you didn't understand anything, "or you just could take off your lower clothes and leave on your bra."

"Why?, if i may ask." you didn't have the bravery to be naked next to your captain.

"Because it's a medical check-up and since you are a woman, i need to check down there."

You couldn't refuse his arguments and his eyes were so penetrating that you took your pants and underwear off, you decided to keep the shirt just preserve some dignity.

The check was weird, you were flustered all the time and couldn't even look him at the eyes. At least, he looked completely focused on his task to look on the eyes, the thing is that he is looking directly into your cunt.

"You know captain?" you only good a umh on response, "i don't think i could look at you after this."

"And who says you need to see me?" suddenly you feel his warm breath on your thights.

"Cap-captain?" you asked almost fainting away.

"I said you don't need to see me... just sense me."

His mouth touched you skin and started to get up until it's almost on your clit, you grabbed the arms of the chair, tense from all the situation. You made the mistake to look down at him and he grinned at you mischievously.

"Relax, if you don't do that then you won't enjoy the ride."

You couldn't answer, only gasp feeling his tongue doing a long lick on your cunt. His grip was strong and you coudln't move but right now you don't know if you have the strenght or the desire to move.

Feeling this, Law started to move more confident. His tongue starting to circle you clit, sending you shivers down your spine. You try to cover your mouth from moaning and revealing your weakness to your captain.

"Who would have thoguht that you would be so willing to stay on the chair."

"Law, why?"

"Why not?" another long lick and now one finger playing your entrance.

His finger finally entered you, moving slowly, with upper movements making you discover new places of your insides. With every second it was more difficult to hide your sounds. His pace got more steady drving you to the edge of the orgasm, almost there but not quite yet.

"Someone is liking this more than it should."

"What do yo expect if you are doing that to me?" you try to sound confident but your voice cracks with every movement.

"Then i am happy to be doing it good, but i am just getting started."

You try to understand what he was talking about when another finger entered your cunt, stretching your insides even more. All that with his tongue on your clit, was making the perfect combination to making you crazy.

Youre orgasm was almost there, moans and groans escaping from your mouth, now without shame anticipating the release... but then stopped.

"What the ...?" you said without thinking 'cause of the frustation.

"Ohhh, someone is getting really needy uh?" his word made you flustered, "don't worry, now we will have the best part, the both of us."

Law got up from the chair and lean forward to you, now youre eyes are meeting only a few instances away. His dark eyes looking like it coudl penetrate your soul, there's no smile anymore. His face starts to get closer to you until his lips met yours in a slow kiss. Suddenly you hear his zipper unbutton but you couldn't look thanks to his hands catching your face to lift you up a little and put you on the edge of the chair again. His hands started to go lower to your butt, smacking it once before separating himself for a moment and finish releasing his throbbing member.

"Do you like what you see?" arrousal starts to reapear on your cunt and you try to squeeze your legs to hide it, but he didn't let you, "No, you won't do that," he grabs your thights and push him between you, now his member directly touching with your pussy.

"What will you do?"

"I think we both know and i think we will like."

He took his member and aligned it with your entrance, torturosly slow entering you. You grab him by the neck, trying to find some support and he lets you while groaning.

"Fuck, this is better than i imagined, your pussy is..." his apparently cocky facade from previously is now dissapearing with every inch he enters your body.

"You feel very good too." you say, trying to concentrate on something, but his difficult only hearing his low grunts and groans.

"Don't say that, or i am going to cum very soon," now you are the one who is moaning on his ear, "i am going to move."

At first his thrusts were slow and tender, feeling a heat wave travel thru your body and getting to his. The started to feel more needy, both of you, and started to move faster and stronger. Your bodies moving in harmony, trying to reach the grat desired orgasm.

"Oh, Law, i am close!" you almost exhaled that, starting to loose your voice from moaning and trying to breathe thru the desire.

"Oh god, i am close too, i want to fill you." thaat made the desire desappear for a moment."

"No, i can't risk getting pr..."

"I have medicines to that, i am a doctor, remember?" with that affirmation, you decided to let it happen.

The pressure that has been building in your stomach finally exploded, making you scratch a Law's back, but that made him cum in even faster, with a low gasp. His hot sperm filling you up with such strenght that even starts to follow outside your pussy and drip on the chair.

"Ohhh, that was really good." his thumb carresed your cheek tenderly while both of yourtry to recompose yourselves.

"Yeah, it was," you lean back on the chair to catch your breath.

"Would you like ro get to my bedroom? you know, to clean ourselves, take and bath and sleep? You must have a reward for being a good girl on you medical check."

[aris-ink]

Omg all of your works are so so good I’ve binge read them all😭😭😭 can I please request like an agedup!/ dilf!Namjoon with reader, dub/non-con? Daddy Joon just has me on my knees all day every day🧎🏽‍♀️

tysm I love you <3 and 👀

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: strangers to lovers, doctor!namjoon au

warnings: implied murder, mentions of anxiety and neglect, hints of (emotional) parental abuse, obsession, corruption, dub con, misconduct, inappropriate medical examinations lmao, age gap, daddy kink, praise, soft manipulation, psychological humiliation, multiple orgasms, risky sex, creampie, implied imprisonment/pet play at the end??? (up for interpretation ajdjdfjdh)

Namjoon always had a soft spot for strays. A keen eye, too. And you? You were but a little kitten in the body of a tigress. A kitten without an owner. Not one that knew how to care for you, anyway, and sometimes that was a fate far worse than one of an orphan.

He wasn't quite sure what it was about you that caught his eye. He has never felt anything towards any of his patients, politely ignoring any subtle attempts at flirting with him. But after your first visit, he decided right then and there that he was going to help you get better; in every way he could. Bring out that little kitten from hiding and give her shelter, where she wouldn't need to pretend to fit in with the predators to survive.

Because now, you had your very own predator watching your back.

He looked forward to your every visit, although it pained him to see you unwell. When he noted the slight tremble in your hands as you sat in his office, he started weighing the pros and cons of referring you to a psychiatrist. Did he want to see you wither away to nothing? No. Did he want to hand you over to someone else? Definitely not.

Tapping his pen against his lower lip, he lifted his eyes from the computer to your face.

So beautiful. So frail. Oh, he could crush you if his hands weren't careful. Maybe he should; maybe you needed to fall apart and be rebuilt again. What a shame. What an opportunity.

Shall we leave it up to fate?

Gently, Namjoon reached out to take your hand in his.

"Listen to me, sweetheart," he sighed. "You're not well, and I don't think there is much more I can do. I think you need to see a specialist."

You only blinked at him, looking so lost, your brows furrowed softly.

Namjoon gave your hand a squeeze, then released it to swivel around in his chair, facing his computer again.

"I'm going to write you a letter of referral, and then-"

"I don't-" you interrupted him, immediately avoiding his eyes. "I don't think I want to see a psychiatrist right now."

Ah. There we go.

Namjoon raised an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side.

"I know it's a big decision, but you need help to get better."

You hesitated for a moment, laying your hands down in your lap. You fiddled with your skirt, and Namjoon had to physically restrain himself from letting his gaze wander down to the smooth skin of your legs.

"But..." You sighed, biting down on your lower lip. "Then..." Another sigh, like you couldn't quite figure out how to express yourself properly. "Can you help me?"

'Atta girl.

Namjoon took his glasses off and placed them on the desk beside him. He stayed quiet, watching you with dark eyes, waiting for you to wrap up your thoughts.

"I- I don't want to see anyone else right now," you managed. "It's hard enough to open up to one doctor."

His lips quirked. Check, mate. How perfect you were, building yourself a house of straws. How considerate for the wolf who wanted to devour you.

This was his cue to stick to his oath and do what was best for his patient. The only thing was that every patient's case differed; and he knew exactly what was best for you right now. What you lacked, what threw you off balance in the first place. Only he possessed the medicine that held the cure to all the aches of your soul.

He pretended to think it over, his eyes sincere as they stared into yours.

"Okay," he agreed, soft and quiet.

It was enough for a ghost of a smile to grace your face. His heartbeat picked up its pace.

"But," he continued, leaning down to grab a stethoscope from a plastic drawer, "I need you to work with me, okay? I want to see you get better."

You nodded instantly, your back straightening when he stood up from his chair.

"How about we start with a check up?" He suggested, placing a large hand on your shoulder. "Can you lie down for me?"

You relaxed beneath his touch, silently leaning back to sink into the leather bed. It was propped up, so you were really almost halfway to sitting up, but he gave you a warm smile, briefly moving his hand to rest atop your head.

"Good girl."

He noticed the deep inhale, the way you seemed to flush at the praise, and he had to busy himself with putting the stethoscope on in order not to barge into that little straw house and frighten you with his sharp teeth.

No. He'd claw at it, circle it, until you were curious enough to peek outside and consider what the beast had to say to you. And most importantly, what it had to offer.

He placed the cool end of the stethoscope on your chest. Your heartbeat instantly pulsed in his ears, loud, clear and fast. He looked down at you, sliding it an inch lower, his knuckles barely ghosting the swell of your breast.

A beautiful stutter in the rhythm followed.

"Are you uncomfortable?" He murmured.

You shook your head, your voice coming out soft when you answered.

"No."

"Nervous?"

You shook your head again.

Namjoon smiled at you.

"Good. There's no need to be."

He took the stethoscope off then and put it somewhere behind him, not paying it much more attention. Instead, he placed his hand on the crown of your head again, his thumb brushing over your temple.

"Do you get heart palpitations often?"

You stared up at him, those big, innocent eyes making it hard for him to remember that an entire world existed outside of you, outside of this room. Making him want to do bad things. Dip into that innocence and twist it inside out, just like you did to his soul.

"Sometimes," you replied quietly.

Namjoon hummed.

"Do you know how many physical conditions follow anxiety? Stress spreads like poison. Ignoring it is never a solution."

He noted the way his statement sank into you. Nothing he said was a lie; but how easily you accepted any words that fell from his mouth made his stomach tighten. Oh, he'd leave black handprints all over your pure, little soul. And he was okay with that. An eternal mark, proof of belonging to him.

You sighed. That made his heart tighten. Such a pitiful sound. How could he ever resist taking you into his care? Would a priest resist a sinner's confession? Never. It was a holy path, guiding people and helping them heal. You deserved the best of them all.

"That being said," Namjoon continued, "I'll ask you a few questions now, and press down on a few crucial places." He emphasized his point by putting some pressure onto his thumb, proceeding to massage your temple. "Is that okay with you?"

Your eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

"Yes."

His thumb slid down the soft, warm skin of your face, tracing the apple of your cheeks.

"Are you still getting migraines, love?"

You shook your head. Namjoon placed his hand on your tummy, his thumb once again drawing comforting, mindless patterns into the cotton material of your shirt. You exhaled softly.

"How about nausea?" He asked, keeping his voice low and his eyes on yours. "Did that improve at all?"

"A... a little."

It was difficult to focus on anything but the way you responded to his touch. He was mesmerized by how flustered you seemed, but how pliant all at once. Laid down before him like a sacrificial lamb, your fate long accepted. Perhaps even cherished. A lamb longing to be slaughtered and handed straight into the hands of their god, looking for the slightest proof of his existence; even if it came in the form of death. Always, in the end, yearning for their father's warm embrace.

"That's good," he whispered.

Cautiously, he let his hand slip a little lower, his palm brushing over your abdomen before it settled at its very bottom. Your breath caught in your throat, yet you didn't move or look away from him.

"But... medication can only help so much. Same goes for relaxation. The best way to solve a problem is to focus on its root, don't you think?"

You nodded once more, and he felt content and intrigued at the same time, his free hand settling down on your knee.

"Then let's do that."

He could see the way your gaze flickered to his hand, tracing the veins over it before flicking back to his face.

He gave you a small squeeze of reassurance.

"College has been difficult, hasn't it? Not to mention... everything else. Have you tried to socialize a little more like I recommended?"

His question prompted you to sigh once more.

"Not really."

Namjoon let his hand shift a little higher, coming into contact with your inner thigh. The softness of your skin alone was enough to stir warmth inside his body; but the way your muscles tensed suddenly only added fuel to the fire, setting him ablaze.

"Why not?" He questioned. "Humans are social creatures. Conversation, a sense of belonging, and even-" his hand finally wrapped around the flesh of your thigh firmly, giving it a squeeze, "touch, can bring tremendous comfort."

You gasped, and the sound made him throb. Meekly, you turned your head to the side, looking away from him.

"It's hard to change."

Namjoon gave your thigh another squeeze, a gesture that could have been comforting, had his hand not been resting on the very inside of it, tips of his fingers brushing the skin under your skirt. Instead, it was rather inappropriate; but you were nowhere near close to pushing him away. And that was an invitation enough for him to lean in a little, his lips stopping just before they touched your ear.

"Change starts within."

You swallowed thickly, frozen in place. Enthralled or perhaps frightened. Beautiful all the same.

"How?" You whispered, like you weren't sure what he meant.

Namjoon pressed his fingers into your leg, slowly pulling it away from the other. His lips brushed over your ear this time, his answer coming out equally quiet.

"Let me show you."

He could feel the shiver that went through you; it quickly morphed into the smallest, softest whine when he rested his hand upon your clothed core. He expected the heat and he expected the wetness, but not this much. There was a clear, damp spot forming on the cotton, burning beneath his skin.

His knees felt weak, his fingers pressing into it automatically to rub slowly. He let out a strained, shallow breath into your ear.

"Oh, I think you really want to learn, hm?"

Your hand flew up to his coat, grabbing at his collar helplessly. Namjoon lowered his head further and placed his lips on your neck, pressing a hot, heavy kiss right into your pulse point.

"I'll teach you, baby."

Your back arched gently at the name, thighs spreading more to encourage his touch, let him defile you whatever way he wanted. Something slipped out of your lips as you pulled on his collar; something like a moan. A moan in the shape of a word that made his head snap up sharply.

It was almost a whisper. But there was no way he wouldn't have heard it; you were all he could hear, feel and see right now.

"What did you call me?"

Though his pace remained slow, his fingers began to rub your clit harder, the soaked material so flimsy he could practically feel you pulse under his touch.

He stared into your eyes, watching you struggle to catch your breath through his ministrations. It appeared to be even more difficult when he asked the question, embarrassment instantly shadowing your features.

Namjoon tsked.

"Come on, you can do it."

He dragged his fingers away from the spot he was massaging, only to slip them underneath your panties.

"Say it again."

Your hips jerked in surprise. The heat of your soaked folds, bare under his fingers, made his cock twitch in the tight confines of his pants. God, you felt so perfect; divine, really. He pressed the tip of his finger into your clit, trying to coax you, his strokes firm and lazy.

You moaned. It was a heavenly sound. No angel choir could have compared. As if on instinct, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer.

"Daddy," it was shy and came with a shudder.

It was filthy and had him throbbing again, driving him to press his lips against your cheek as he touched you.

"Who hurt you, baby?"

The words came out soft, so unlike their actual mocking nature.

"A man takes advantage of you, and the first thing you can think of is spreading your legs and calling him daddy?"

The amused murmur went straight into your skin - and then deep, deep beneath it. He felt you grip his collar tighter, felt and heard the unsteady, shaky breath that fled you.

If you had been embarrassed before, you were mortified now, on the verge of crying. But he could also feel more slick gushing right out of you, and he sped up his movements on your clit slightly. His lips felt soft against your heated cheek, slow in making their way up to your ear.

"It's okay," he whispered. "That's a good girl. Show me where it hurts. I'll make it better."

A breathy, quiet moan was the only sound you were capable of producing. Namjoon let himself continue feeling and memorizing every inch of your skin he could, the bridge of his nose brushing your neck.

"Lemme fix it. Lemme fix you, sweetheart."

Your fingers dug into his shoulder, hips beginning to move in circles, mimicking his touch, following it straight into oblivion.

"Good girl," he repeated his praise in a quiet breath. "Gonna come for daddy?"

You pressed your face into his neck, whimpering into it. Your body answered for you, thighs trembling when it hit you, his fingers sticky and wet as they ceased their movements.

He didn't move his hand, though, kept it pressed against your cunt, even when a knock on the door made you jump.

"I'll be there soon," Namjoon called, ignoring your attempts at trying to close your legs and turn away from him. He grabbed your jaw and pressed his lips into yours, wasting no time in suffocating any protests and worries with a messy kiss.

With his forehead leaning against yours, he finally took his hands off you only to unzip himself. The sound startled you, your eyes popping open and shoulders stiffening.

He smiled at you, his dimples showing, as if he wasn't prying your legs apart to settle himself in between them.

"I- I-" you stammered nervously, shaking your head in protest.

Namjoon pressed into you, the tip of his hard cock rubbing right against your leaking entrance slowly.

"You what?" He breathed into your lips, dark, hungry eyes stuck on yours.

You mewled, fighting to keep your eyes open and your hips in place. How cute.

"You don't want to get better?"

You stared back at him, eyes hooded but brows furrowed, your chest heaving against his. The internal conflict was a lot, as was his cock twitching against your heat; but it was nothing you couldn't handle.

"Did you know?" Namjoon murmured. "When the soul gets sick, so does the body. Pretending all your life is gonna get you nowhere, baby."

The warmth of his hand burned into your hip as he pushed forward. The tip of his cock slipped into your tight heat, making your back arch beneath him. Namjoon's head fell into your neck, a low groan escaping his throat.

"I'll take care of you, I'll never leave you lonely or worried," he breathed into your skin, continuing to push forward agonizingly slowly. "You'll never... have to feel... that way again."

Each inch stretched you out so well, reaching deeper and deeper - until his hips were flush against yours and you felt like there wasn't enough air in the room.

Namjoon's harsh, hot breaths dotted your skin in goosebumps. He lifted his head to look up at you, entranced. Your eyes shone with unshed tears, mouth wide open, and he wondered if it was from the feeling of his cock inside you, or from his words. He wondered if your heart was also jumping out of your chest, desperate to get closer to his.

He got his answer when you tightened around him. His free hand travelled up your waist, hips pulling away only to slam back into you. Only one thought remained in his head. How divine you were, quivering beneath him and fighting to stay quiet. Right where you belonged; in his arms, at home. Where you didn't have to worry about obtaining money, acceptance or affection. You didn't even have to ask for it. You just had to take it.

He kept his pace steady, careful not to make too much noise, though it was hard with the way you were dripping and clenching around his cock. He tried to muffle the soft moans with another kiss, his tongue quick to slip past your lips. But it didn't do much to hide the wet, obscene sounds of him fucking you. He could feel his spine tingling, a veiny hand settling on your breast to knead it.

He knew there was no time. But considering the fact that his balls were already tightening, it wasn't going to be a problem. He broke the kiss, leaving a string of saliva connecting your lips.

"Gotta be quick today, baby," he breathed, pressing two fingers into your clit to rub it harshly. "Yeah? Is that okay?"

The way your pussy squeezed his cock made his hips stutter. He released your breast to slap his hand over your mouth as you started coming, his head finding rest in your neck once more.

His moans were quiet, raspy, his cock pulsating inside you. With how big he was, it seemed there should have been nowhere for his cum to go, and yet he filled you up with every last drop until his eyes rolled back.

You still quivered around him when he stopped moving, trying to catch some air into his lungs. He lifted himself up slowly, releasing your mouth to stroke your cheek instead. You looked so perfect; dazed and exhausted, lips swollen, the tension completely gone from your body. Namjoon could feel it too; the glow in his chest, the euphoria running through his veins. He leaned it to place a gentler, lingering kiss on your lips.

"You did so well," he murmured lovingly. "Such a good girl."

With delicate fingers, he grasped the drenched cotton of your underwear and held it carefully as he slipped out of you. Even if he could make a mess in his office, the thought of you going home with his cum leaking out of you into your panties was enough to make him twitch. He breathed out a sigh, zipped himself up and helped you sit.

"Good?" He whispered, eyeing you intently.

You shied away from his gaze but nodded. Namjoon smiled, then turned to grab a piece of paper and a pen.

"Your next appointment is on Monday," he scribbled on the sheet as he talked to you. "This is my private number and address. In case you need anything."

You stared at him uncertainly. Namjoon cocked his head, the tone of his voice kind, though it didn't match the darkness in his eyes.

"My door's always open for you."

Slowly, you lifted your hand and accepted the small note, planting both of your feet onto the floor.

"But..." you fiddled with the sleeves of your blouse, eyes still bright with tears. "O... okay. Thank you."

With a nod and a subtle smile, Namjoon opened the door for you. The low hum of conversation and soft lights lighting up the corridor reminded him that he still hasn't finished his work for the day. But with the taste of you still on his lips, he didn't really care.

Through the window in his office, blurred by the streaks of rain hitting the glass, he watched you get into your father's car. He narrowed his eyes as he observed the man's scowl, like it was an awful inconvenience that he had to wait this long. Only this once, Namjoon could sympathize with him. He didn't like waiting either.

And yet it was what he had to do for the sake of your well-being. Good thing that for this very reason, he didn't mind killing your father slowly. Who'd know if he exchanged a couple of pills? No one but God, and he feared no judgement. Where was God when he put you into the hands of a neglectful, harmful parent? As far as Namjoon was concerned, God's sins outweighed his own.

He could see you buckling up, still dazed and tired, withdrawn from your surroundings. The car began to reverse, and slowly you disappeared from his sight altogether.

Poor, little kitten. Searching for sustenance and warmth. He didn't even need to ask you to keep quiet, or worry about whether you'd show up at his door. He knew you would. Somewhere in your bones, you so clearly felt it. It was time for you to heal; time to find you a new home. And he had a pretty collar with your name on it waiting for you under lock and key. A pretty golden ring as well.

Only the best for his little girl.

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