#(( but you could not have picked a worse option

[itneverendshere]

lovee bartender!reader and rafe soo much, theyre daydream content fr!!! <3 if it takes your fancy, maybe a little piece where readers tired so she puts her pride away and does go to rafe for help (even if only for something very small) and hes just elated, ecstatic, all the words for it! that man is always so stressed, need him to have some peace LOL

she eventually becomes a little less headstrong about his help so this when she finally really understands that’s is okay to need someone else sometimes 🙂‍↕️🫂 thank you for the request! and also thank you for loving them too 🫶🏻

year dark night and now i see daylight - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

You wiped down the bar for what felt like the hundredth time tonight. 

The lights glinted off the glasses, making you squint. You were so tired. Your legs felt like they would give out at any moment, and the tension in your shoulders was making your neck ache, but there was no time to stop. 

There was never any time to stop.

You’d been running on fumes for days now—maybe weeks?—but who was counting? Not you, clearly. Because taking a break or slowing down?

That just wasn’t in your vocabulary. You were fine. You could handle it. You always handled it. You didn’t need help.

The headache you’d been ignoring was getting worse, though, creeping behind your eyes, making you blink more than usual. Your hands were shaky, and if you were being honest with yourself (which you rarely were these days), your body was running on empty. But still, there was work to do, and people needed drinks, and you weren’t about to let anyone think you couldn’t do your job.

You paused, gripping the edge of the bar a little tighter than necessary when the room seemed to tilt, just for a second. That was new. You sucked in a slow breath, trying to steady yourself. 

Nope. Not now. Can’t do this here. 

There was no way you were going to break down in the middle of your shift, in front of everyone. You’d tough it out like you always did.

“Hey!” Your co-worker voice cut through the pain, snapping you out of your thoughts. He was waving you over to another table where more customers had just sat down.

Perfect. More people. Just what you needed.

You forced your feet to move, pushing through the exhaustion as best you could. 

You felt that familiar wave of anxiety, your new best friend, but you shoved it down like always.

You could handle it. You had to. Because asking for help? Letting someone see you weren’t doing okay? That was never an option. Except…maybe this time, it was.

You hesitated behind the bar, staring blankly at the group that had just sat down. They could wait a minute, right? Just one minute to pull yourself together. You’d earned that, at least.

Before you knew it, your phone was in your hand, thumb hovering over one name in your contacts: Rafe.

You hated asking for help. He worried about you enough as it was, constantly telling you to slow down or take it easy. You usually brushed him off. But tonight…tonight felt different. You were running on nothing but pride and stubbornness at this point, and even that was starting to crack.

Swallowing hard, you hit Call.

It rang twice before you heard his voice. “Hey, baby, what’s up?” Rafe sounded surprised—probably because you never called him when you were working. You could hear the concern creeping in already.

You squeezed your eyes shut, hating how vulnerable you felt just by calling him. “Can you—uh, can you come pick me up? I’m kinda…done.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end, like he was processing the fact that you, of all people, were asking for help. When he spoke again, his voice was almost relieved. “Yeah, ‘course. I’ll be there in ten. Don’t move, okay?”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, the tight knot in your chest loosening just a little.

Hanging up, you slumped against the counter, finally letting yourself breathe. Ten minutes. You could make it ten more minutes.

Rafe arrived faster than you expected, his tall frame pushing through the double doors of the club. His eyes locked onto you immediately, and the second he saw you, his tough guy expression dropped. You didn’t realize how close you were to falling apart until you saw the way he was looking at you. 

“You okay?” he asked, crossing the bar in a few quick strides, his hand already reaching for yours.

For once, you didn’t brush him off with a quick “I’m fine.” You just shook your head, letting out a shaky breath. “Not really.”

He didn’t say anything right away, just pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you in that way that made you feel safe, like it was okay to just not be strong for a second. You hadn’t noticed how badly you needed this—how badly you needed him—until now. Rafe’s chin rested against the top of your head, and you could feel his heart beating under your cheek.

When you finally pulled back, he didn’t let go right away, his blue eyes searching your face. His brow furrowed as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing softly along your cheek. You must’ve looked worse than you thought because the worry in his eyes was impossible to miss.

“You really weren’t kidding about being done, huh?” His voice was gentle, but you could hear the hint of frustration in it. Not at you, but at the fact that you’d been pushing yourself this hard without saying anything sooner.

You gave him a weak smile, trying to shrug it off. “Yeah, I guess I went a little overboard this week. But I’m fine now. You’re here.”

He sighed, shaking his head but pulling you closer again, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your lower back, “You’re gonna give me a heart-attack before thirty.”

You bit your lip, that familiar guilt settling in your chest. You knew he was right. You knew he worried all the time, every single day. But admitting you needed help—especially to him—took a lot of energy, like ripping away the last bit of control you had. And control was how you survived. How you kept everything in check.

He wasn’t going to think less of you for it. If anything, he looked elated that you’d let him in, that you trusted him enough to ask. You nodded, feeling the tears start to prick the back of your eyes. “I know. I just—” You broke off, not really knowing how to explain it. “I keep doing this. I’m sorry.”

“I got you,” he murmured, kissing the top of your head. “Let’s get you home.”

The quiet of the truck felt like a much-needed break from everything, the engine lulling you into something close to sleep. You hadn’t realized just how tense you were until now, with the night air coming through the window and Rafe’s hand resting on your thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin.

You leaned your head back against the seat, watching the headlights of passing cars flash by. It felt weird to not be constantly thinking about what came next, what else needed to get done, or how much work you still had to finish. For once, it was like your brain was actually giving you a break, like it was saying, “Yeah, okay, you can relax now. You’re not alone.”

You glanced over at Rafe, his jaw set in concentration as he drove, but the way his fingers held onto you so gently told you everything. He hadn’t said much since you left the club, but you didn’t need him to.

“Are you hungry?” 

You blinked, realizing you hadn’t even thought about food. You weren’t really sure if you were hungry or just exhausted. “Not really,” you admitted. “I just wanna get home.”

Rafe nodded, giving your leg a gentle squeeze. “Okay. Almost there.”

You let out a breath, grateful that he didn’t push. He never did. It was one of the reasons being with him felt so easy, even when everything else in your life felt overwhelming. He never tried to fix things for you, never made you feel like you were weak for needing help. He just showed up—every time.

The minutes passed, and before you knew it, you were pulling up to his place. The sight of his house—your second home at this point—made your anxiety loosen even more. You didn’t have to do anything here. No one needed you to be “on.” You could just…exist.

“You good?” he asked, offering his hand to help you out.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you mumbled, though your body still felt like it might give out if you let yourself relax too much. You took his hand anyway, letting him help you down.

Once you were inside, you kicked off your shoes and practically collapsed onto the couch, feeling the cushions sink under you like they were the softest thing in the world. You pulled your knees up, wrapping your arms around them as Rafe moved around the room, grabbing a blanket and tossing it over you before sitting down next to you, close but not smothering.

He knew exactly how to handle you—how to be there without overwhelming you. He just sat there, his arm slung over the back of the couch, waiting for you to speak or not speak, whatever you needed. And that’s when it hit you how lucky you were to have him.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, not really sure why the words came out, but feeling like you had to say something.

Rafe frowned, his hand brushing over your shoulder. “For what?”

“For… I don’t know. For not telling you sooner that I was struggling. For always acting like I can handle everything when I clearly can’t.”

He shook his head, giving you that soft smile that made you feel like the most important person in the world. “You don’t have to apologize for that, baby. I know you. You you don’t have to be perfect all the time.”

You bit your lip, “I just don’t want to feel like I’m dumping all my shit on you.”

Rafe leaned in a little closer, his hand now resting on your knee. “You’re not dumping anything on me. We’re in this together. I love you, and I want to be there for you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, but this time it wasn’t from stress. It was from the realization that he was right.

He’d always been right and you knew it, it just took you months to process it.

You exhaled, leaning your head against his shoulder, “I love you too,” you whispered, the words feeling more powerful now, more real.

Because this wasn’t just love. This was trust.

He kissed the top of your head, his fingers gently running through your hair as he pulled you closer. He wasn’t frustrated or upset. He was just there, in that patient way that made you fall for him in the first place.

"You’re really too good to me, you know that?" you said softly, tracing your finger over the back of his hand.

He shook his head. “Nah, you deserve it. Besides, it’s not like you make it easy for me to help.”

He said it teasingly, but there was truth in his words. You knew you had a habit of trying to do everything on your own, shutting people out when you felt overwhelmed.

You looked down, feeling a little sheepish. "Yeah, I know. I’m working on it."

"Hey," he said, gently tilting your chin up so you were looking at him again. "I’m kidding. I’m here for you, okay?”

Your heart did that little flip thing it always did when he said stuff like that, like you couldn’t believe someone could love you that much, but at the same time, you knew it was true. 

“If I mess up again, just remind me that you said I don’t have to be perfect."

He chuckled, pulling you back into his arms. “You know, you’re probably gonna fall asleep on me right here.”

You smiled, your eyes already half-closed. “Maybe that’s the plan.”

You knew he was grinning without looking, feeling it he leaned down to kiss the top of your head again.

“Okay, but you’re definitely not getting out of taking care of yourself tomorrow. I’m making you pancakes in the morning. You’re eating, and you’re not gonna fight me on it.”

“Mmm, pancakes sound good,” you mumbled, already feeling the pull of sleep creeping in. “But only if you make the chocolate chip ones.”

“Deal.”

Wrapped up in his arms, the world outside of this little bubble didn’t feel so overwhelming anymore

[tozettastone]

I'm not going to finish this either, but I do think there should be some more fun casefic for the Akatsuki so one day perhaps I'll write one:

---

"You're the best person for the job," Konan admitted. Her eyes were hooded beneath the shadow of her thick dark hair, and her usually serene face was troubled. "But temperamentally you're unsuitable. I wouldn't ask you if I had another option. If Sasori were still here..."

"Itachi?" Kakuzu prodded. It was true that a casino wasn't really the kind of environment in which Kakuzu thrived. He didn't enjoy gambling, partying, or networking.

Sasori wouldn't have been a perfect match, either. He lacked the patience for cover work. But he could count cards, and he had been very beautiful, and had enjoyed being on display.

But there was no use in wishing for the dead to come back.

"I tried. Itachi is sick."

"Still?" He had been getting sicker and sicker, lately. Kakuzu's eyes narrowed.

"Not still. Again." Was that better or worse? "It shouldn't be more than two weeks. The main problem I foresee is the attention."

"I'm not shy," Kakuzu said drily.

He took the mission request from her and examined it. It seemed fairly standard: show up, stay at the same table as Mizashi-san, and find out who he was meeting and why across the ten days of his proposed stay at the event. It was a closed and private event, with heavily vetted security and staff, so the path of least resistance was to buy in as a guest and player. Kakuzu could see that.

Konan sighed quietly. "It's not that. Every high roller in the room will have a companion. It's the fashion now."

"A prostitute?"

"An escort, yes." Konan was, as always, unflappable. "These men and women make good money that way. At the moment we plan to send you unattached, and in that case you should expect to attract a certain amount of... attention." She met his eyes head on. "You can't get frustrated and kill the sex workers."

Kakuzu would have been annoyed by this faithless assessment of his temper... had it been sent less accurate. It was hard to muster irritation when he knew Konan had seen him do that kind of thing at least four times.

"I could bring my own... escort," he said slowly.

There were people Kakuzu had managed to work well with, over his time in the Akatsuki. And they weren't as few and far between as it sounded, either: his habit of killing the people with whom he worked poorly had rather separated the wheat from the chaff, in an intra-organisation sense.

"I'm not temperamentally suited to this mission, either," Konan refuted flatly.

"No," he agreed.

"...Surely you don't want to take Hidan on a cover mission?" Konan's dark eyebrows rose. "To a private party at a casino?"

"Deidara," Kakuzu corrected. Itachi would have been his first pick, but if Itachi had been well enough to complete the mission, Kakuzu would never have even seen this scroll.

Konan blinked. "Deidara," she repeated.

"Yes. Deidara."

"Uh, yeah," came Deidara's voice from the vicinity of the doorway. He was covered in dust and had the defiant air about him that made Kakuzu suspect he'd blown up something important. It was clear in the pugnacious set of his jaw. "That's me?"

Konan turned towards him too. Her eyes lingered on the clay dried to his hem. Her lips thinned.

"Ah. Deidara," she sighed. "Come in. It seems you're right on time."

[coquelicoq]

i refuse to feel responsible if my friend's relationship ends up being a bad idea even though there was a period of time in which he would have broken up with her if i had told him to and i didn't. because that is too much power to have in someone else's relationship. he needs to make his own decisions and if they turn out to be mistakes that is not on me.

[ricoka]

Don't ask questions you don't want answers to is too real 😬

[gio-cosmo]

I cut my hair and it looks so fucking stupid omfg 😭😭

[giantkillerjack]

Today my therapist introduced me to a concept surrounding disability that she called "hLep".

Which is when you - in this case, you are a disabled person - ask someone for help ("I can't drink almond milk so can you get me some whole milk?", or "Please call Donna and ask her to pick up the car for me."), and they say yes, and then they do something that is not what you asked for but is what they think you should have asked for ("I know you said you wanted whole, but I got you skim milk because it's better for you!", "I didn't want to ruin Donna's day by asking her that, so I spent your money on an expensive towing service!") And then if you get annoyed at them for ignoring what you actually asked for - and often it has already happened repeatedly - they get angry because they "were just helping you! You should be grateful!!"

And my therapist pointed out that this is not "help", it's "hLep".

Sure, it looks like help; it kind of sounds like help too; and if it was adjusted just a little bit, it could be help. But it's not help. It's hLep.

At its best, it is patronizing and makes a person feel unvalued and un-listened-to. Always, it reinforces the false idea that disabled people can't be trusted with our own care. And at its worst, it results in disabled people losing our freedom and control over our lives, and also being unable to actually access what we need to survive.

So please, when a disabled person asks you for help on something, don't be a hLeper, be a helper! In other words: they know better than you what they need, and the best way you can honor the trust they've put in you is to believe that!

Also, I want to be very clear that the "getting angry at a disabled person's attempts to point out harmful behavior" part of this makes the whole thing WAY worse. Like it'd be one thing if my roommate bought me some passive-aggressive skim milk, but then they heard what I had to say, and they apologized and did better in the future - our relationship could bounce back from that. But it is very much another thing to have a crying shouting match with someone who is furious at you for saying something they did was ableist. Like, Christ, Jessica, remind me to never ask for your support ever again! You make me feel like if I asked you to call 911, you'd order a pizza because you know I'll feel better once I eat something!!

Edit: crediting my therapist by name with her permission - this term was coined by Nahime Aguirre Mtanous!

Edit again: I made an optional follow-up to this post after seeing the responses. Might help somebody. CW for me frankly talking about how dangerous hLep really is.

[roachfurby]

need to find me a dilf so i can adopt his kids!!!!! and be a devoted parent and partner!!!!!!

[transandrobroism]

notes/replies on that last post (about Florida moving to ban all HRT for adults) suggest it was struck down by a judge, which is a relief obviously. but i do wanna pick up on the response being "set up DIY networks for HRT! organise and help each other!" which is cool and all but... as the latest reblog comment points out, T is a controlled drug.

some quick and dirty googling confirms testosterone is a Schedule III controlled drug in the USA, with most legal sources suggesting possession and/or distribution of Schedule III drugs is a 3rd degree felony. conviction can mean up to five years in prison and a $5,000 fine. crucially, in Florida (where this law was intended to come into force), selling or distributing a Schedule III drug to minors pushes it up to a 2nd degree felony with a harsher fine/sentence.

i make this point because the response to HRT being restricted is often some variation of "mutual aid DIY network" or just flat suggesting DIY to people as the solution. which is cool if you're on estrogen, but possessing testosterone without a prescription is a literal felony in the USA. T is also a controlled drug in the UK, where trans people face long waiting lists for HRT - it's not illegal to possess T for personal use, but it is illegal to get them sent to you from abroad (importing a controlled drug) and to give them to other people (supply). to legally get T you need a prescription from a doctor.

in a hostile transphobic environment there is no guarantee that prosecuters will decide not to charge trans people for DIYing HRT. "set up DIY networks" for transmascs basically translates to "set up an illegal drug ring".

this is a form of transphobia that affects transmascs but does not affect transfems. it also affects nonbinary and intersex folks seeking or using testosterone HRT. in fact it could potentially impact some nonbinary trans folks worse because the medical gatekeeping around trying to transition as nonbinary is already an uphill struggle.

it is not easy for those of us on T to just DIY it and fuck the system. without a valid prescription our HRT becomes a banned illegal steroid that can land us in serious legal trouble if we get caught, especially if we're distributing it to other people as part of a mutual aid setup. i know we're all very "be gay do crime" for the memes but we are talking about an actual factual go-to-jail-irl crime here.

the fact that our HRT is an illegal drug unless prescribed by a doctor is a form of transandrophobia that affects trans men, transmascs, nonbinary people on masculinising HRT, and intersex people who want or need testosterone. it means that:

we cannot DIY transition without committing a crime, and have to weigh up that risk when considering DIY as an option

setting up a mutual aid testosterone DIY network is even more of a crime, especially if you want to use it to help trans teens

we are thus more dependent on placating medical practitioners and convincing them to prescribe us HRT

we will always be more impacted by any moves to restrict or delay access to HRT because we don't have an easy, legal DIY option

when access to HRT is limited for transphobic reasons, the DIY option comes at much higher risk

where access to HRT is severely delayed (as it is in the UK by years-long waiting lists), it is easier for transfems to start DIYing while they wait than it is for transmascs to do the same thing. in fact in the UK they've started selling estrogen HRT over the counter for menopause, so here if you want to start estrogen DIY all you have to do is get a cis lady friend to ask a pharmacist for menopause treatments. if you wanna start T you have to go on the fucking dark web (I'm exaggerating but... not a lot)

none of this is intended to suggest that transfems don't experience medical transphobia or gatekeeping and this isn't a "trans men have it worse universally across the board" post. there are undoubtedly some areas where it's harder to be transfem. however, this is one area where it is clearly and demonstrably harder to be a trans man. i am pointing this out because i keep seeing people saying that transmascs have it easier or there's no systemic or structural transphobia targeting trans men or we only ever experience misdirected misogyny or whatever. here is your proof that that is not true. this is a form of structural and systemic transphobia that impacts trans men and not trans women. and there is no possible world in which you can argue that testosterone being a controlled drug is somehow misogyny.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Head Canons:

Double Trouble

Yandere twins x childhood friend gn reader

Michael and Mica were polar opposites in personality despite their eerily similar appearance. Michael was soft spoken and kind while Mica was loud and boisterous. It wasn’t uncommon for Mica to be on your left and Michael to be on your right. They’ve always been your friends for as long as you could remember…

As the three of you got older, they became clingier. They were always at your house whether it was to walk to school with you or to complete homework, they were there. And it became much worse when you mentioned having a crush.

“I have a crush on Darren. I think he’s cute…” you had said on the first Tuesday of your senior year in college.

“Darren? The really quiet guy?” Mica furrowed his brow. “If you like quiet guys, don’t you think Michael is a better fit? Look at him?”

Mica squished Michael’s cheeks together and directed his face at you. A bright cherry blush on Michael’s face as he averted his gaze from you. “Isn’t Michael rather handsome too?”

You chuckled as you helped Michael out of Mica’s grips. “I never said Michael was ugly, you two have always been my friends… wouldn’t it be weird to only date one brother?” You brought up which made the twins become silent.

“Ah… I didn’t think about that.” Mica whispered, his eyes filled with stars. “So would you date both of us then?”

You quirked a brow. “Both of you?” Mica nodded his head while Michael blushed even more.

“Hmm… probably just one of you.”

Since you had said those words, you noticed a change in your friends. The twins were now always in a silent battle for your undivided attention on one of them.

They followed you to around to each of your college classes, both eager to be by your side. Mica babbled your ear off while Michael firmly held your hand. His cheeks aflame and his palms sweaty.

“You really think you could choose one of us? Isn’t two better than one?” Michael asked you with a smirk. “You wouldn’t want to break one of our hearts would you?”

It was so odd to be badgered by Michael every single day without fail. The blonde would constantly pick on you to pick one of them while Mica would hold onto you like a lifeline. The quiet male consistently reminded you of his presence as well.

It was at a college party filled with one too many cheap beers that you found yourself sprawled out with the two of them on either side of you. You were no doubt in their dorm room, whisked away in your tipsy state by Michael. Mica sat in front of you on his knees while Michael held your body from behind.

Mica’s lips were pressed firmly on the side of your neck while Michael’s hands slipped under your shirt. Your body felt as if it was burning from their fervent attention.

“How about we help you see things our way? We can make you feel good…” Michael chuckled at your dazed expression.

You sighed. It’s not like you really had an option at this point. These two weren’t going to leave you be until you accepted them both.

You helped Michael slip your shirt over your head as you grabbed Mica’s blonde curls to pull him into a kiss. If this was the way it was going to be, you might as well have your cake and eat it too.

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Close to You - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer is needy and Reader has a work deadline to meet, so they try something new as a compromise.

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: me writing another cockwarming fic? it’s more likely than you’d think ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (no mommy kink this time cuz this feels more mild as far as the sub/dom dynamic goes, maybe next time!)

TW: sub!spencer, softdom!reader, cockwarming, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, creampie, afab reader

Rating: R/18+ (oops all smut)

——

The blue light of your computer screen was starting to make your eyes hurt, the hours of completed paperwork in your rearview feeling like nothing compared to the digital mountain of remaining work for your proposal you still had to complete by the deadline your boss had given you. Working from home certainly had its perks, but right now the only thing you could think of was how much more focused you’d be if you were still in an office.

“How’s work going?” Spencer’s voice broke your train of thought as he turned the corner into your home office.

“It’s fine, I still have a lot to get done.” You sighed, continuing to type away on your keyboard.

“You know, I was reading an article the other day about studies being conducted that explore the long term effects the extended work hours work-from-home jobs require have on the average adult, it went pretty in-depth on how psychologists suspect the lack of separation between work and the home environment can negatively affect the way we prioritize professional work with personal tasks and quality time.” You could tell your boy-wonder was using his vast knowledge to pick an article with a topic that was a bit too on the nose to beat around the bush of his point, but you didn’t know why.

“That’s very interesting Spencer, but why bring that up when you know I can’t stop working?” You questioned, calling his bluff.

“We haven’t had sex in 2 weeks.” He mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear. You knew that, and it was driving you crazy just as much as it was him, but this project was major and if you wanted to get the promotion you had been working so hard to get, you had to set your personal needs aside for a bit.

“I’ll make it up to you once I finish this, I promise.” You weren’t lying, your accidental celibacy had stretched your imagination to some very interesting places, and you couldn’t wait to try those new things with him, but it had to wait, no matter how touch-starved you felt.

“I want you.” He almost whined, taking a couple steps further into your peripheral vision.

“Spencer, you know I need to get this project completed before my deadline tomorrow, I don’t have time for this.”

“But I need…help.” His words were drawn out, his hushed tone piquing your interest. You pushed your chair out, craning your neck to make eye contact with him before his gaze dipped lower and yours followed. The fabric of his pajama pants was pulled taut over his bulge, his fidgeting hands barely restricting your view despite his attempt to hide the evidence of his arousal behind them.

“Oh baby, that must hurt, huh?” You sighed, giving him a sympathetic look before turning back to your work.

“It does, I need you.” He pleaded, coming up behind you to rest his hands on your shoulders.

“You need to take care of it yourself.” Your statement came out more blunt than you intended and a hint of guilt started to pang in your chest, the stress of this deadline was starting to get to you and you didn’t mean to take it out on him.

“I’m sorry to bother you, I know you’re busy, but I already tried and I just made it worse, you feel so much better than my hand does.” He over-explained, continuing to plead his case as his fingers started kneading the sore muscles atop your shoulders.

You mulled over your options, the concept of his admittedly impressive cock filling your neglected cunt sounding all-too appealing in the moment. You knew you couldn’t take the time to fuck him right now, after no sex for two weeks your carnal urges would absolutely take over and you’d wind up ignoring your work for the rest of the night, to the detriment of your employment status. You were about to send him away when an idea popped into your head, something that could be a good compromise to both of your predicaments if done correctly.

“Drop your pants.” You bluntly stated, beginning to stand from your chair. He followed your instruction, a bit confused but too excited to question, always eager to please you. You also stripped from the waist down, ignoring the growing slick between your thighs.

“Sit down.” Came your next instruction, your eyes fixed on his erection, his head blushed pink and dripping with precum. When he was situated you climbed back onto the chair with him, positioning your knees on the suede fabric on either side of his thighs, hips hovering over his member. You reached down, fingers wrapping around his length as you positioned his head at your dripping entrance, reveling in the first sexual contact the two of you had experienced in far too long.

You slowly sank down, your warm walls engulfing his throbbing cock until you were seated fully on his lap, the fullness giving you a sense of satisfaction. Spencer’s breathy sighs and white-knuckled grip on the arms of the chair told you he was enjoying this just as much as you were, but you knew he would want more any second. You on the other hand were always better at controlling your desires, even just this level of intimacy enough to satiate you for the moment.

You relaxed into him, back pressed to his chest as you began your work once again, ignoring the dull ache in your core.

“A-are you going to move?” Spencer’s desperate voice broke the silence after a few minutes of you typing away at your computer.

“No. This is all I have time to give you right now. If you’re a good boy and stay still for me, I’ll let you do whatever you want tonight.” You were curious to see how well he’d do with this. Even though Spencer prided himself on being the smartest in the room at any given time, he wasn’t very good at controlling his urges and it amused you how his composure could disappear if he was desperate enough, particularly around you.

“Okay.” He breathed, seeing the muscles in his arms relax and the grip he held on the chair loosen out of the corner of your eye.

You continued your work, busting your ass to complete your project as quickly as possible. Every once and awhile you’d flex your kegel muscles, your walls contracting around his cock to keep him as hard as possible, teasing him to see how hard you could push his patience.

You grew closer to your last tasks, the end finally in sight when you felt him start to shift under you, hips attempting to thrust up into you. You anchored your hips, holding him down to not break your focus. He let out the most pathetic whine you’d ever heard, running his hand through his hair out of frustration.

“If you move again, you won’t cum tonight. I’m almost done, do not distract me again.” You told him sternly, rocking your hips back one time as an incentive.

“Understood.” He groaned, thighs relaxing beneath you.

You wrapped up the last paragraph of your proposal, satisfied with the work you had done. You could feel Spencer tense when you closed out of the last application and shut off the computer, screen darkening and leaving the two of you bathed in the golden glow of sunset in an otherwise dark room. Instead of finishing him there, you rose off of him, leaving him groaning in desperation.

His cock was covered in your slick, veins throbbing and head almost purple from how desperate he was to cum. You started walking out of the room, finger motioning for him to follow you and he almost tripped over the chair, trailing in your shadow. You found the bedroom, stripping out of your remaining clothing while contemplating what position you wanted him in. Your thighs were starting to burn from sitting in the position you had held for so long, so you opted for good old-fashioned missionary. You laid down on the bed, thighs spread as Spencer pulled off his shirt and waited for your instruction.

“Come here.” The words had barely left your lips and Spencer was already on the end of the bed, crawling up to you like an animal on the prowl.

“Do you want to fuck me, Spencer?” You asked, drawing out his torture just a little while longer.

“Yes please, need to feel your perfect cunt again.” He begged, looking down at you with his big brown eyes.

“Go ahead, but don’t cum until I say so.” You instructed, your hand finding the nape of his neck, tugging lightly on his hair. He moaned, positioning himself at your entrance before thrusting fully into you, his gaze locked on the way your breasts bounced with each desperate thrust into your warm cunt.

His pace remained steady, pounding into you, your pleasure slowly building but not quite hitting the spot you needed him to. You wrapped your legs around his hips, angling your hips up ever so slightly and you couldn’t help but cry out, his cock finally hitting the soft spot inside of you that you’d been craving. He dropped his head into your shoulder, bringing his hand to your pussy to rub firm swipes over your clit, clearly desperately trying to make you cum so he could.

“So close, I don’t know how much longer I can last.” He panted, hips faltering slightly.

“It’s okay baby, don’t stop.” You moaned, too close to care about being firm with him anymore after how good he’d been for you today.

His thrusts became increasingly desperate, driving into you at a pace that had you seeing stars, the combined pressure on your clit sending you over the edge in a blur of white hot ecstasy.

“Spencer!” You cried out, nails digging into his back as you rode out your orgasm, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts.

His moans grew louder, hips stuttering and you could tell he was almost there, but something was holding him back.

“Cum inside me.”

Your request was all he needed to hear, not having to worry about pulling out anymore allowing all of his focus to finally come undone, hot ropes of cum filling your aching cunt. He pulled out of you, collapsing beside you with his head on your chest, long legs almost dangling off the side of the bed. You laid there spent, gently running your fingers through his hair until you both caught your breath.

“Thank you.” He spoke, lifting his head to look you in the eye.

“There's no need to thank me Spence, I’m sorry I’ve been so busy. You were right about overworking, I’ll try to delegate a bit more.” You sighed.

“I just don’t want you to overwork yourself, you deserve to enjoy yourself more often.” He leaned up to pull you into a kiss, his arms wrapping around your waist as you finally got a moment to relax for the first time in weeks.

——

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[foreverdolly]

࿔ SAVAGE BONDS part 5 『 feyd rautha x atreides!reader 』

summary: destined to one another since conception, your very life belongs to feyd rautha. as a token of good will you are sent to the strange planet of giedi prime a week before your wedding ceremony, only to learn that it is far more hostile than you imagined it would be. a failed assassination attempt has tempers flaring and sparks flying when it is decided to be safer to sleep alongside feyd. you hate to admit it, but he has played the part of a "protector" better than the guards who were tasked to watch over you. whilst you have been dreading this union all of your life, feyd has been anticipating it. meeting you as children had left him awe-struck. . . and a bit obsessed.

warnings: !SMUT HEAVY IN FUTURE PARTS!, feyd is super overprotective in this fic and kills multiple people in your honor, blood and gore, it's a dark romance folks, political marriage, forced proximity, temporary unrequited love, a lil dubious consent in some scenes, there's a lot of talk about breeding, enemies to lovers (in your mind, not his), there's a "who did this to you" scene, knife play, blood kink, breeding kink heavy, lots of scent marking/marking.

word count: 6.6k

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“Move.” 

He was like an impenetrable wall. 

You attempted yet again to step around Feyd, your outstretched hand just barely brushing against the door before the man turned his body, blocking you from the exit. He stood with his arms crossed, using his much larger frame as a barricade. After the. . . events that transpired last night, the only thing that was on your mind was freedom. You needed breathing room, if only for a few minutes. Feyd had been your shadow for the last three days. He hadn’t left your side even for a second. 

You wanted to trust him, even against your better judgment, so you tried to believe that it was only because he wanted to protect you. There was still that overly cautious voice nagging at you, telling you that he was looking for weaknesses to use against you later. His all-seeing eyes could be sizing you up, making note of how many bites it would take for him to swallow you up whole. The last thing you wanted was to be consumed by this place. . .  Consumed by him.  

The events that had transpired in your guest bedroom four days ago had your suspicions rising, and you needed to be certain that you were just paranoid before you could even begin thinking about your fast approaching wedding ceremony. 

You had feared your impending fate for the entirety of your life. That had always been the one thing that frightened you most, and yet here you were, bruised and battered. It was crazy to believe that there were people on Geidi Prime that were worse than Feyd-Rautha. . . and yet here you were, depending on him for safety. You needed answers. 

How had the guard even entered your room in the first place? 

“I won’t tell you again. Move.” Your jaw ached, teeth grinding together as you tried to keep yourself from striking him across that cocky face of his. 

The skin between his brow bones wrinkled ever-so-slightly as he stared down at you. It was almost as though he was scolding a small child, watching them flail and cry after their punishment had been dealt. Last you had checked, you’d done nothing wrong. Why were your basic rights being revoked after the attempted murder? Why did it feel like you were the one paying the price? 

“Either you come with me and train or you stay in our room until I grab you. You have two choices. Pick one.” The pale Na-Baron almost seemed bored of your antics and you couldn’t blame him. 

You’d been fighting him every chance you got ever since he had forced himself on you last night. A silent vow had been made right then and there: you were going to make his life a living hell, only stopping once you deemed he had done his proper penance. 

“I like neither of those options. Watching you train has done nothing for me. I want to learn-” 

“You don’t need to learn how to fight. Is it not the husband’s duty to protect his wife?” He tilted his head to the side, staring down at you with a hint of concern in his eyes. 

Why was he so obsessed with the idea of protecting you? The most he did while the two of you “trained” was block your onslaught of attacks. Gurney wasn’t afraid to hit you in the sparring ring, even if you ended up injured and butt-hurt. He was blunt and told you the ways that you could improve yourself, meanwhile Feyd had been treating you like you were made of porcelain ever since the assassination attempt. You hated it. With your vocal cords still fried from the strangulation, you were made all too aware of the fact that your fighting skills were subpar. 

You’d tried goading Feyd into attacking you head on many times, but no matter what you said he still held his punches. The difference between his treatment of you and other’s was startling. Someone could look at him wrong and he was immediately jumping down their throats, ready to strike with lethal precision. 

“One day you will have to leave me alone, if even for a few minutes. . . and what then? You can’t always be there-” You were trying desperately to explain, and yet he would hear none of it. He looked almost offended by what you were saying. 

“I will always be here,” He was quick to interject, eyes suddenly wild. “I won’t let anything hurt you again.” 

Realistically you knew that your heart shouldn’t be pounding the way that it was. 

Still, there it was, hammering away in your chest. Every once in a while it was almost as though that dark veil that he had cast over himself was lifted, revealing someone entirely new to you. Someone, as much as you hated to admit it, that was entirely too likable. Loveable, even. His constant changes in personality were starting to give you whiplash. Was he someone completely different when he was around you? Or was he just trying on different faces to see which one you liked better? 

You clenched your fists at your side, trying hard to calm your raging emotions. His actions last night were completely barbaric, and yet you couldn’t forget the softness of his lips. The warmth of his mouth over yours had plagued your dreams and made it impossible to sleep. It was insane of you to feel this conflicted about something. You should hate everything about this man, and yet here he was, promising to be your protector. More than that, he was promising to stick around, which was arguably more terrifying. 

“I’m going then. Will you not be coming with me?” He unfolded his arms, reaching a hand out for you to take. 

It hung there in the space between you two, his pale fingers twitching. For a second you contemplated taking it. Regretfully you realized that you had something that you needed to look into. 

“I’ll stay here,” You faltered when you saw the hint of rejection in his eyes as he let his hand fall back to his side. “My bruises are tender today, so I’ll just take a bath.” 

Why were you trying to make him feel better about your refusal? This was all too confusing. 

“Alright then. I’ll see you in an hour.” And with that he turned on the heel of his boot and walked through the door, careful to close it tightly behind him. 

You breathed a sigh of relief, moving forward so that you could press your forehead against the cool metal. It felt good against your flushed skin. 

“I won’t leave until I hear you slide the lock into place.” His deep voice was muffled behind the thick barrier between the two of you. 

You closed your eyes tightly, sliding your hand against the door until you found the lock, clicking it soundly into place. It must have appeased him, as you heard his retreating footsteps just a second later. 

Time ticked by as you waited to be free of your newfound guardian. The last thing you wanted was to be caught in the hallway sneaking around. Feyd would surely side with his uncle if you were to tell him all about your suspicions, so you’d rather just investigate on your own until you had solid evidence. You wanted to believe that you hadn’t been set up to die, and yet you had this intense gut feeling that this all went even deeper than that. 

Why would they make good on the promised engagement if they just wanted to kill you? It’s not like you were any real threat, other than the fact that you had been blessed with your mother’s gifts. As you were now, you were basically useless, which was a very hard pill to swallow. 

Slowly you unlocked the door, scared that the sound might alert someone. You had slipped the knife you had stolen during your first dinner on Giedi Prime into your belt, hiding it under the flowing black gauze of your blouse for good measure. Even if you were caught, you needed some way to protect yourself. 

The cold metal bit into your skin as you slid the door open, reminding you that you were safe. You will never let anyone hurt you like that again. 

This time you will be ready. 

Two rights and then three lefts. You had memorized the way to go in order to get to the left wing for this very reason. The Baron’s defenses would be tight, but his office would be relatively empty around this time. It was just about lunch, and according to Feyd he would retire to his personal quarters. If you could distract the guards for long enough to slip in, riffle around for information, and then get out. . . you’d be home free. 

You wiped your sweaty palms on your skirt as you walked through the hall, training your expression to one of stony indifference. Modeling it after Feyd’s, you briskly made your way, hoping that the guards would be confused enough to let you pass without so much as a second thought. 

‘I belong here.’ You lied to ourself, trying to bolster your confidence. 

A few men in uniform turned to look after you, but no one stopped you. The way to the baron’s office was completely new to you. Feyd had never taken you this deep into the left wing before- only to get to the grand-hall to show you where the ceremony would be held. It was as large and foreboding as all of the other rooms on the giant estate, but the onyx floors had a certain shine to them as though there were flecks of quartz sprinkled throughout. You didn’t want to admit it at the time, but it was a rather extravagant place to get married. 

You’d nonchalantly asked if the Baron lived in the left wing seeing as the architecture was seemingly more grandiose. He couldn’t have known that you would try to make your way in this direction on your own because he had let it slip: the baron and his office were located very close to the grand-hall. 

“What are you doing over here?” The man’s voice was deeper than Feyd’s, though he was half his size. 

The guard at his side looked to be twice your age, and yet the expression in his eyes made you think that he wouldn’t think twice about ripping your head straight from your shoulders. 

“The Na-Baron asked me to come and get you two.” It felt awkward using Feyd’s title, stuffy even. 

The two blinked a few times in disbelief, looking you up and down as if you were an insignificant worm. It was almost like you could hear their thoughts. You were nothing but a pitiful Atreides, so what were you doing taking orders from someone as important as your soon-to-be husband? They doubted that he would ever confide in you for anything other than warming his bed. 

“He told me that the two men standing in front of the Baron’s office were needed in the training room.” The sooner they were gone the better. 

Their eyebrows furrowed in confusion, slowly looking behind them at the large door they were currently standing in front of. How would you know that this was his uncle’s office unless you were explicitly told? 

“Did he mention why we are needed?” There was still a hint of distrust in the older man’s voice, but it was far overshadowed by fear. 

Feyd was unpredictable. Unpredictability and psychosis made for a dangerous combination. 

“Another guard confided in him yesterday. Said that the two of you said something disrespectful recently and that he wanted to personally have a word with the both of you. I don’t know anything more than that.” You wanted them so frightened that they would completely abandon all reason. They needed to be gone long enough to give you time to properly search the place. 

You watched as their pale faces went a sick shade of pale purple. The two looked like the gossiping type, and if their expressions were anything to go off of then you must be right. They were quick to bow their heads in your direction before jogging off, muttering curses under their breath. 

A second. Two seconds. Three. . . 

You opened the door as slowly as you possibly could, praying that it wouldn’t make a noise. You waited to see if you could hear any movement, wondering whether or not the inside was being watched as well. Thankfully you heard nothing. The room wasn’t as massive as you had been expecting. It was just about as large as the first bedroom you had been placed in was, but somehow it looked even darker. It still had the strangely textured walls and beautiful floors, same as the grand-hall, but there was something unsettling about it. The only light coming in was through the large window that was located in the middle of the room, but the world outside was a slate gray, so even that was dim.  You didn’t have time to look out the large window, no matter how curious you were about your new surroundings. There was something that you had to do. Making a decision on how you should go about this whole predicament was paramount, and you refused to do it after the wedding. 

There was still time to try and contact your parents back home if you had suspicions of a possible murder plot. 

The Baron’s desk was neat, not a speck of dust marring it’s matte black surface. You weren’t looking for anything in particular. . . just something that would put your mind at ease. Confirmation was needed, one way or another. Either Feyd’s uncle was innocent or guilty. Of what? You weren’t quite sure yet. 

You riffled through the papers that sat on the middle of the table, careful to stack them up exactly where they once were. The information in them seemed useless to you. Financial documents- most of them discussing the retrieval of spice. Never once had you stepped foot on Arrakis, so you found them slightly boring at worst and mildly interesting at best. It was then that you started tugging at the very few drawers, knowing that you would be found at any second. There were no sounds emitting from the hallway, but that didn’t mean anything. Most of the people on this planet were freaks of nature it would seem. You suddenly began to doubt that there would be any evidence here of all places. 

Asking the guard that attempted to kill you and his accomplices questions would have been the best route, but your fiance had acted rashly before you even had the chance to catch your breath. The time to give up on your investigation was near. Seconds had turned into minutes. Your heart was pounding up in your throat, making it hard to breathe as you opened the last drawer. 

It turned out that it wasn’t a drawer at all but a small cabinet. You had to crouch down and squint your eyes in the dark to see inside. The contents would have been useless to you in most cases, but something caught your eye. . . and terrified you in ways that you couldn’t quite put into words. 

It was a cabinet filled with marked- 

“Did you see his face? It looked like he was surprised to see us.” The male’s voice had you standing up so fast that a muscle in your neck twitched, resulting in a dull pain shooting up the base of your head. 

You were about to be caught. Any second now they would be back at the door, and where would you hide in the hallway? The billowy skirt that the ladies in waiting had brought to Feyd’s room this morning nearly sabotaged you as you tripped by the door. They were just around the corner, only a few steps away from his office now. 

What would happen if you were caught? Would the wedding be called off? Would you be punished severely? 

You closed the door as quietly as you could behind you, running in the opposite direction that the two begrudged guards were coming from. You only skidded to a stop when you saw that this hallway was also heavily guarded, their backs turned to you. 

This was the worst case scenario. You were running in the opposite direction where you had come, which meant that you had absolutely no clue where you were going. There was no way that you would get out of this without some sort of formal permission, and two guards were already suspicious of you. Oh, and you couldn’t use the Voice if things started going south. 

If you could sink right into the floor, right in this moment, you would. 

The cabinet in the baron’s office was filled with keycards, each labeled with numbers that must correspond to each room. Only two were missing- two keycards that belonged to a room that had been organized on the wall of the right side of the cabinet. Left wing and right wing. The guest rooms were located in the right. 

There was no way that was a coincidence. . . not when you were staying in the right wing the night that you were injured. You had been given a keycard at the very beginning of your stay. Not even your ladies-in-waiting had a way to get into your room by themselves. They had to knock on the door and wait for you to unlock it from the inside for them. 

So if you had one keycard. . . then who had the other? Had someone broken into the Baron’s room just the same as you had, perhaps?  

A sudden grip on your wrist had your mouth falling open, your lungs seizing as you sucked in a breath, your body's natural reaction being to scream. A hand was quick to press to your mouth, muffling whatever sound you could make. The hand belonged to someone tall, their body hard against your back as they ushered you into a small space. They pressed a button on the wall, and all you could do was watch in horror as the door slid closed behind the two of you. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

It was pitch black in whatever tight space he had dragged you into. A closet, you surmised. Still, you could hear that his teeth were clenched as he spoke to you, voice deep and low as he whispered. 

Feyd. You hated the fact that you were so relieved that it was him. His presence here meant that you were safe. All you had to do was come up with some sort of lie as to why you were here. Walking alongside him wouldn’t dredge up any suspicions. No one would be the wiser if they saw the Na-Baron giving his soon-to-be bride a tour around the grounds. 

His chest was pressed tight against yours, and suddenly you found it hard to take in a single breath. It felt as though he might press himself straight into your ribcage. . . and maybe you really were going crazy, but you wouldn’t mind it if he did break you. The smoky, spiced scent of him was clouding your judgment. 

You were no longer yourself. 

“It’s none of your business.” You whispered back, trying to make your tone just as ferocious as his was. It lacked bite though, and he seemed to catch the way that your voice faltered ever so slightly. 

“Getting yourself killed the second that I look the other way. . .” He scoffed, and you wished so badly that you could make out his features in the dark. His body moved ever so slightly, as though he was leaning his head back in exasperation. “Do I need to bind your hands and ankles every time I leave the room? Are you that incapable of being without me even for a second?” 

“I got lost.” You hissed, the lie sweet on your honeyed tongue. You were getting better at being despicable. 

“Well, that’s too bad,” His voice softened, almost as though he was speaking to a child. “Getting lost in these halls isn’t hard to do.” 

His grip on your wrists tightened to the point of pain, and for a second fear flashed behind your eyes. You hadn’t feared Feyd since you first arrived on Geidi Prime, and it was as though you were being brutally reminded of just who warmed your bed at night. He could kill you with his bare hands if he wanted to. Those strong fingers were currently immobilizing you now, leaving bruises on your wrist where he held you so ruthlessly. 

“You’re a clever little mouse. What are you doing outside of my uncle’s door, hmm?” His hand freed one of your wrists, instead opting to grip your jaw so that he could move your head up. 

Could. . . could he see you? The breath loosed from your lungs and all you could do was squint your eyes, begging them to adjust to the darkness. He was in his element here, lost to you in the shadows. 

“If the guards caught you then they could deem you to be a spy. You would have been beheaded before I had time to get to you, and I’m sure that they wouldn’t have notified me before the killing took place. They know. . . how I am with you.” He chose his last words very carefully, faltering before he sounded the words out. 

“And how are you? With me, I mean.” You regretted the words as soon as they passed your lips, and yet you were curious. Were you nothing more than a pet to him? A plaything for him to take off of the shelf whenever it suited his mood? Perhaps he saw you as nothing more than a conquest.

Your hand shook as you began digging into your side, searching your belt for the handle of the blade that you had been carrying during your explorations of this labyrinthian prison. Slowly you pulled it out, pressing it against his side. 

You felt his muscles jump under his shirt as he realized you were now brandishing a weapon. His grip was still vicelike around one of your wrists, but he moved again, slowly looking down at his side to see exactly what it was that you were now threatening him with. 

“I could snap your neck right now.” 

“But you won’t.” That was the only thing that you were sure of. It was the only truth that you were clinging onto: Feyd Rautha would not harm you. 

He moved your head to the side, the blade pressing hard into his side as he leaned forward, squeezing the breath straight from your lungs as his hard chest pressed pressed pressed into yours. Your breasts felt as though they might burst and your heart right along with it. He placed a kiss on the side of your neck, causing you to jerk in surprise. 

The knife dug into his side and you paled in horror as you realized what you had done. He groaned, the noise echoing in your ear due to your very forced proximity. You needed space. You needed to breathe. 

“No. I wouldn’t,” His breath was hot against your cheek as he slid his nose along the expanse of your neck. “Not ever.” 

It felt as though something was being pulled taught in your heart. At any second it threatened to tear free. He had galvanized a strange sort of reaction from you- one that you were wholly unfamiliar with. This was all too new and all too much. 

“Let go of me.” Your voice shook pathetically, and while it was a command. . . truly, you were begging him. 

“You’ve finally learned to tolerate me. Or is this developing into something that you weren’t prepared for?” There was something in his voice. . . something that you were entirely confident that he was incapable of displaying: feeling. “Is that why you haven’t been able to look at me since yesterday?” 

“I-I’m angry at you. Why do you think that I would be able to even stomach looking at you after that?” 

He pulled away from your neck, the blade of the knife dislodging itself by a few centimeters with the added distance. He groaned again under his breath, his hand moving your face yet again so that he could get a good look at you. Your jaw ached as his fingers dug in ever so slightly. 

“No, this isn’t the face of anger.” He sounded sure of that. 

And it scared you that he was right. Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried desperately to see him in the darkness. Still, all you saw was black. 

“Then what is it? If you know so much then tell me.” 

“I don’t know. . .” And for a second you thought that you might have won this round somehow. “No one has ever looked at me the way that you do.” 

Your lips parted in shock as you stared up into the darkness. Did he always have to pull the rug right out from under you? Just when you were finally starting to get your bearings, he made you feel so unstable. If both of your hands were free then you would have tangled them in your hair. The arm that gripped your weapon slackened, the blade clattering to the floor beside you. 

“Then I feel sorry for you.” Your eyes pricked with tears, so you closed the useless things. Still, after all of this, you refused to let him see you cry. 

“I know.” He whispered, his voice so gentle that you could weep. 

“And I fear you.” 

“I know.” His forehead pressed against yours. 

“I don’t want this.” 

“I know.” He nuzzled against you, his grip on your wrists finally loosening. He must have known that you wouldn’t try to get away from him. 

The fucked up thing was that it felt as though your feet had grown roots, tying you to the spot. All it would take was one good shove and you would be free of him and the closet. And yet. . . 

And yet. . . 

“I could have sworn I saw someone over here.” The voice outside in the hallway made you jump, your eyes shooting open. 

You hadn’t been as careful as you thought you had been. Feyd’s earlier statement was coming back to haunt you. They would have you killed, uncaring as to whether or not you even made it into the bastard’s room. Whatever purpose you had for being in this area would be nefarious in everyone else’s mind. What were you even doing here in the first place? Your suspicions were unfounded, and more likely than not you would have found absolutely nothing to substantiate them. Would your parents be able to retrieve your body? Or would they just burn you without even sending a letter back home? 

Feyd’s hand slid up the base of your neck, gripping at your hair. Did he not understand how much danger you were in? Maybe he didn’t care afterall. His knee slid between your legs, forcing them open. 

“What are you doing?” You gripped at the back of his shirt, trying to pull him away from you, hoping that there was some place in this cramped space that you could hide. The voices were getting even closer now, searching for where they thought that you might be hiding. It was only a matter of time before they found you. 

“Saving your life.” He captured your lips in a bruising kiss, his hand sliding out of your hair so that he could begin undoing the front of your blouse. You could hear the sheer fabric of your tunic ripping beneath his hands in his desperate attempt to get to you. 

All you could do was grip onto him for dear life, unable to free yourself to even utter a cry. You were unsure as to how doing this would save you, but you were losing the ability to care much at all. If these were going to be your final moments then so be it. 

So you gave in to the desire. You gave into the wanting and the needing. You fed the ache that had been plaguing you. 

Your lips moved against his, parting so that you could fully taste him. His hands felt firm on your chest as he finally was able to tear you free of the cloth. The air was cold on your hot chest, and yet his hands were scalding against your skin. You tried to remind yourself that none of this was right, but it wasn’t working. His tongue lapped at the roof of your mouth and your own brushed up to meet his. 

More. More. You needed more of him. 

Your hands shook as they began pushing up at the fabric of his training gear. The breathable fabric stretched as you pressed your hand against his chest, finally allowing yourself to feel the hard planes of his muscles. You felt his stomach tighten as your fingers glided along his skin. You were unsure as to what you were searching for, but your body was acting on pure instinct. Your fingers reached up and up until they finally slid free of the fabric at his collar bones only to wrap around his throat.

He groaned into your mouth, his thumb brushing against your nipple. It hardened in response to the sudden attention it was getting. His knee pressed further against your thighs, spreading your legs out further for him until he was finally at the apex of your thighs. His hand flew from your breast to your hips, moving them for you against him. The friction caused your head to roll back against the wall behind you, disrupting the kiss as pleasure rocked through you. Never in your life had you ever felt anything quite like this. 

He continued to rock you back against his thigh, and while you couldn’t see him, you could feel his eyes on your face. He was watching you intently, hell bent on doing whatever it was that he wanted to do to your body. You were unsure of his goal and yet you didn’t care. Something was building inside of you- a sound, a cry, a sob. . . you weren’t certain. It just felt so good. Too good. 

He must have seen your lips part and was quick to press a kiss against them in an attempt to muffle the sound. Your knees felt weak beneath you, and if it wasn’t for his dutiful hands that gripped at your thighs then you were sure that you would have fallen ages ago. 

You remembered how he had felt against you the other night and you wondered if that was a reaction that you had somehow unknowingly caused. You wanted to feel him again. You wanted to know whether or not he was enjoying himself, so you freed his neck and instead pressed your hand against the front of his pants. What had gotten into you? What were you even doing? 

But he was hard against your hand and that was enough for you to begin rocking your hips against his knee without his prompting hands. 

The feeling of your tiny palm cupping him through his pants was more than enough. His hips jerked forward, his eyes flying open at the realization that the object of his lifelong obsessions was willingly touching him like this. He was going to fuck you in this closet if the two of you weren’t found. Feyd didn’t want it to happen like this. . . but he was losing what little control he had left. 

He loved you he loved you he loved you he loved you he loved you he loved you. 

“I-” 

The door flew open the second he opened his mouth, the bright light momentarily blinding him. His body moved on its own, Feyd’s hands moving from your hips up to your shoulders so that he could turn you, using his body to shield you from view. His chest moved up and down rapidly as he gulped down breaths, trying hard to calm himself and his pounding heart. 

There was an unfamiliar man holding the door to the closet, eyes wide as he took in the site of the two of you. It took him a few seconds to really register what was going on in the small broom closet, and then another to fully grasp the fact that he had made a grave mistake. 

“I-I-I had no clue it was you, sir.” The uniformed man stepped back, trying to show the Na-Baron respect. 

You watched in real time as something pure and terrifying bled its way into Feyd’s expression. It had chills running up your spine. 

“Turn your gaze away from her.” His voice was so low that you could barely understand what he was saying. “Now.”The other male quickly got the hint, turning his entire body to face the other direction. His back was ram-rod straight and you watched with a slack jaw as his knees began to quiver. 

You wouldn’t want to turn your back on a rabid beast either. 

“Just get me out of here. Please.” You spoke as quietly as you could, covering the scraps of material that used to be your blouse tight to your exposed chest. 

Killing the random guard in plain sight would attract a small crowd. You watched as Feyd weighed his options, and you bet that the two blades that were still strapped to his back were calling out to him. 

Silently Feyd pulled you out of the closet, holding you so tightly to his chest that your arm became uncomfortably pinned against you. 

The two of you walked through the halls silently, his eyes burning holes into the faces of anyone that even glanced in your direction. The embarrassment of being so exposed in front of everyone had you crawling out of your own skin. No one had seen you naked before- aside from the women that had been tasked to take care of you over the years. All you could do to try and keep yourself from crying was stare down at the floor, watching the pale man’s black boots make their way soundlessly through the halls. Everything he did was so graceful it seemed. 

The blood drained from your face as you were suddenly reminded of the fact that he had seen your chest completely exposed. He’d felt you, kissed you, and pleasured you nearly to the point of your undoing. 

And you had let him. You put up no resistance at all. 

Even worse, you wanted him to do all of those things to you. If you hadn’t been caught then how far would you have let things continue? In that moment you realized that you would have let him take you. You knew yourself well enough to know that you would have let him take your virginity in a broom closet. 

“No one is looking at you,” He seemed to sense your sudden mortification somehow. “I promise. I’d kill them otherwise.” And you knew he was telling the truth. He was probably taking an internal tally of anyone that started for too long, only so that he could circle back for them later. 

All you could do was nod your head and follow him down the hall, stopping only when he reached into his pocket and grabbed his own keycard, letting the two of you back into your room. 

You kept your chest covered with your hands as the two of you broke away. You knew that it was pointless, but the moment was gone and your panic had returned tenfold. 

“Now tell me,” He turned to face you and you watched as his lips turned down at the corners in slight disappointment when he noticed your sudden modesty. “What were you doing over there? Be honest.” 

You couldn’t be honest and it pained you to know that. Feyd was still a Harkonnen. He was loyal to them, not an Atreides. 

“Why did you kiss me?” You were answering a question with another question, but you needed to know. Urgently. 

He licked his lips, as though he was being reminded of the moment. “No one would ask questions.” 

Anger struck you hard in the gut. He had used the moment as a distraction? You felt like an idiot, already regretting the fact that you had allowed him to use your body like that. 

“I didn’t mean to take it that far. It’s becoming harder and harder to control myself.” He must have noticed the hurt in your eyes. “I want you. Not because we are getting married. . . but because I want you.” He was being uncharacteristically emotional today. 

You weren’t sure what that statement truly meant, but it seemed heavy- heavy enough that you felt the need to be more forthcoming with him. 

“I was trying to make my way into the Baron’s office.” A half truth, then. It was easier than telling him everything. “But it was locked.” 

Feyd’s eyes never left your face. They were much softer than they had been in the hallway, almost as though all of the hatred had melted away completely. He looked at you like he cared for you. . . and that was scary. 

“I don’t know why it hurts so much. . . but it does.” His voice was flat, almost as though he was distracted while he continued to watch you. “I know you’re lying to me. My uncle’s office is only ever locked after dinner, which is for safety reasons.” 

You had to bite your bottom lip to keep it from quivering. 

“Only my uncle has clearance to get into that room. The guards in the left wing only ever act on mine or the Baron’s orders. They’re all loyal to a fault. . . so tell me. Did you get into his office?” 

You completely ignored his line of questioning, distracted by something he had said. 

“So none of them would allow someone other than the Baron himself to enter that room?” Your voice shook with fear, your eyes widening as all the pieces started coming together. 

“No,” He looked confused as your lips parted in a silent scream. “What? What is that face for?” 

You felt more alone than you ever had in your entire life. He was out to kill you. . . There would be no escaping this place alive. Your parents had been set up and had given you away to murderers- 

“The guard that tried to kill me. . .” You couldn’t keep your voice from shaking. “What wing did he belong to?” 

Feyd’s muscles went rigid beneath his shirt, as though he was just now coming to some conclusions of his own. “The left.” 

The breath was knocked from your lungs as the full weight of everything crashed into you. 

You were stuck on an alien planet with no way home, Feyd Rautha was going to become your husband in just two days, you wanted Feyd so badly it hurt you. . . 

And his uncle was plotting to kill you. 

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.

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[comicaurora]

Hey, sorry if you’ve been asked this before, but I have ADHD and I’ve been following your comic for years and just now have started to write my own comic (partially because you really inspired me). But I’m really struggling with staying on the project even when it’s boring and getting myself to work on it in the first place. Do you have any tips on how to keep your brain invested or just to make yourself do the work at all?

I have excellent news, I literally just figured out something really important about this.

So when you're an ADHD kiddo or otherwise have difficulty staying on task in a structured environment where Task is the Priority, the main way people try to MAKE you stay on task is by removing your access to anything that is not The Task. No phone, no TV, no doodling, no going outside, etc. In practice, this just makes us miserable because it takes the boredom that's always simmering around a 2 or 3 and cranks it all the way up to 11. In the same way that you would have difficulty staying on task if you were in physical pain, this crushing existential monotony makes it very difficult to work. The work might get done simply because you have no other options, but it will not be done quickly or well, and it will take a while to recover from how much it hurt.

What I realized earlier this week is I caught myself doing this to myself. I had 42 pages of background colors to do, and I thought to myself "this sounds really tedious, but I suppose I have nothing better I can do." And I realized what I'd just thought, and got very alarmed.

Because back when I was an ADHD kiddo imprisoned by school scheduling and a million little factors that keep children immobile and restrained, I couldn't stop thinking about how big and exciting the world was, and how much I wanted to be anywhere but here. When I was feeling really crushed in I'd pick a random spot on the maps on my wall and just imagine being there instead of my bedroom. This was the impetus behind almost all of my creative energy. I've said it before - anything is a prison if you can't leave, and being in a prison makes it easy to imagine how amazing things could be outside of it. Aurora's initial worldbuilding was forged in the crucible of fifth grade misery. My enthusiasm for art and my creative drive are inextricable from my sense of wonder and yearning for excitement in the real world. Not escapism, but appreciation. Wonders unimaginable are out there, and I gain just as much joy seeking them out as I do conjuring them up in my head and sharing them with all of you.

So now that I'm a grown-up with actual freedom in every way I've been able to get, the idea that I was staying on task by making myself believe the world was small and not worth seeing was extremely alarming. It could keep me on task for an afternoon, but at the cost of slowly extinguishing the thing that made me want to make art in the first place - the hunger to experience and draw inspiration from all the myriad complexities in the world.

So what I've been doing is I've been purposefully and intentionally taking excursions whenever I catch myself thinking "I could take a break but it wouldn't be worth it, it's the same outdoors as always, I'll be uncomfy and unproductive and tired." Because that is never true. Every time I've put down the stylus and gone out, I've been renewed in one way or another, and when I come back to comfort fully recharged I get a lot of shit done. Because it is easier to work on anything if you remember why you wanted to make it in the first place, and it is self-defeating misery to just lock yourself in with it and tell yourself you're a bad person if you can't get it done.

I honestly don't know how widely applicable this is. I have worse wanderlust than anyone I know, so for me this has always been modeled as imprisonment vs freedom. I've also been extremely lucky to find myself in a profession that lets me set my own pace on literally everything I do. But I genuinely believe that when it comes to making art with ADHD, you need to give yourself freedom to move laterally, not just in the direction of obvious forward progress. We don't think linearly in any other part of our lives - art is no different.

[fkitwebhaal]

My friends and I have had a very fun conversation which revolves around one question: if you are Ulder Ravenguard, which of the origin companions is the worst option for your son to bring home as his intended.

These were our conclusions:

Gale: one of the best choices as far as Ulder is concerned. College educated, well respected (well despite the orb thing), relatively well natured. Yes, he tends to talk about a subject to death and yes, he can be bitchy but if you gotta pick someone who can make it through a high class dinner without causing an incident from the party at whole, he’s one of the best options. Also he can cook.

Karlach: what Karlach lacks in high society experience she makes up for in sheer warm personality. The fact she fought in the blood war isn’t great, but it was against her will and she’s got a home town hero vibe to her. Yes, if Wyll dates her they will be trekking around Avernus BUT that means Ulder has a ready excuse why they can’t be at political functions: they’re doing hero shit. A solid and respectable choice.

Shadowheart: depending on where she ends up this varies widely, but she was at least part of a cult with an evil goddess, so not great for optics. She also doesn’t take bullshit and will talk shit about you to your face, which isn’t a great combo. However, she does like scheming and that is a point in her favor. Middle of the pack.

Astarion: there are multiple fantastic fics on why Astarion is Ravenguard’s nightmare of a son in law and they are all correct. However, Astarion is charming and assuming no one finds out about the vampire thing, and he’s not ascended, he can make it through a political gathering and not only charm everyone in the room but also get a handful of blackmail. He will absolutely cause problems for Ulder on purpose at the highest rate of any of these options which is why he is so low, but at least it’s on purpose. It could be worse but my God, Ulder is ordering extra ale for his nerves.

Lae’zel: funniest and worst possible option. Zero understanding of politics and zero desire to learn said politics that treated her fiancée like shit. Might take his son to fight a lich in another plane. Would deck a man for talking shit. Causes problems both on purpose but also completely on accident. 10/10 Ulder’s nightmare.

Bonus:

Durge: it in fact, could be much worse

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Spoil of War

dark!aegon x niece!reader

summary: aegon enjoys his time with his prisoner of war

A/N: my bad y'all, it took me forever to get this up

TW: MAJOR DUBCON, smut!!, bondage, incest, violence, kidnapping, degradation, body worship perhaps

word count: 2,245 words

You sit in your childhood bedroom, stewing with your thoughts. It was all so quick, the battle with Daeron, the demise of your dragon. You should be grateful; she spent her last moments cushioning your fall so you wouldn’t die on impact, but you can’t help thinking that you would be better off dead. There’s hardly anything worse than being a prisoner of war, except being Aegon’s prisoner of war.

Speak of the Devil, Aegon has the guards open your chamber doors and the smug bastard strolls in. “Ah, my sweet niece. I finally have the chance to lay my eyes on you.” He regards your nightgown with great interest. You haven’t had a chance to dress yourself for the day yet. “You’ve been quite the subject of controversy as of late.” He says with a light smirk.

“Which part is controversial, the fact that you’re keeping me prisoner, usurper?” You say back to him with spite.

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic. It’s a temporary situation.” He says, unconcerned as he walks over to your dining table of untouched food and picks up an apple, taking a bite of it. “Once your mother bends the knee, i’ll return you to her. It’s as easy as that.”

“Or they’ll take control of King’s Landing and Daemon will slaughter you where you stand.” You’ve never heard your voice filled with such hate before as when you speak now.

“Come on, the threats are hardly necessary. You are safe with us - for the time being.” He makes a stupid joking cringe face at the second part of his sentence. “You could do with being more amicable.”

“Amicable? I’m your fucking prisoner and if her Grace the Queen doesn’t bend the knee to your spoiled, traitorus ass, you’ll execute me.”

“War doesn’t often give you many options. And you, my dear niece, are a very valuable bargaining chip.” As he speaks, you know he takes the utmost pleasure in you being in his control. You want to wipe the smug grin off his face.

You reach for the piece of glass you had hidden, ever so slowly. You feel your hand clutch it and your gaze is filled with rage as you launch yourself at him. “You traitor!” You aim for his throat with the sharp point but he catches your arm. The broken glass barely grazes him, leaving only the thinnest line of blood as proof of your attack. He twists your arm and the piece of glass clatters to the floor. Your uncle releases you only so he can backhand you so hard that you fall to the floor.

“Gods, you’re a feisty little thing, aren’t you?” He wipes the drip of the blood off his neck. “Clever girl, going for the throat.” He laughs at you. You just tried to kill him and he laughs at you.

You glare up at him, your face distraught and full of vengeance. You quickly reach for the glass that you had dropped but as soon as you manage to grip it again, Aegon kicks you in the stomach. You curl into yourself, whimpering.

“Okay that’s enough of that. Guards!” The guards immediately enter the room, ready to defend their king. “Restrain her. Use… rope.” He has a certain look on his face as he says the last word, seemingly pleased with himself as he struts out of the room.

You’re left on your knees, by the fireplace for an hour until Aegon returns. Your hands behind your back, the bindings keeping you in place. There is, what you consider to be, an unnecessary amount of rope tied around your body that is seemingly for decoration, for your uncle’s pleasure.

“Are you calm now?” He asks as he strides back into your chamber with arrogance. “I wasn’t sure what the cool down time was for Strong bastards.” His stare is hungry as he looks upon you. “What a pleasant sight, my combative niece tied up at my feet.” He almost mumbles the last part.

“I will be calm when I watch your body burn.” There is heat in your words, your threats.

“That is a lot of big talk for a girl who is kneeling for her king. You’re much more desirable like this… when you’re helpless beneath my gaze.” His fingertips graze under your chin, tilting it up so you have to look at him. You jerk your head away.

“Don’t touch me!” You spit at his feet.

“Silly to say such things when you’re at my mercy.” He kneels down to look at you better, his fingers run along your soft hair. “I’ve never been more tempted. And i’ve been tempted many, many times.” He leans in to whisper in your ear. “I had forgotten how divine you are.”

You know where he’s going with this, what he wants. His finger trails down your nightgown, to your breast, giving it a light squeeze. “You’ll burn in the Seven Hells for this!” You say as you fight against your restraints.

He ignores your words. “If I were a more brazen man, i’d ravish you right here and now… oh wait.” He chuckles at his own joke.

The fire burns bright behind you and his dagger gleams in the warm light as he unsheathes it. He cuts one of the cap sleeves of your nightgown. “You have no right.” Your eyes flare bolder than dragonflame as you speak.

“Oh, my lovely sweet niece, I absolutely have the right because you are under my protection. If I want to rip that nightgown off and ravage you, who’s going to stop me?” He says sadistically… lustfully as he cuts the other cap of your gown.

“It’s not a proper way to treat an important bargaining chip.” You say softly. To be truthful, younger you would be preening at the chance to be so close to Aegon. Up until now, you had thought that part of you had died with Luke. Now, he’s so close, so... alluring.

“It’s not, but when have I ever been known to behave properly?” He then cuts your nightgown off of you, down the middle and as swiftly as he can without cutting through your bonds, leaving you naked other than the smallclothes that barely cover your lower half.

His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of you almost completely naked. His hand falls to your thigh, rubbing the smooth soft skin. “You’ve always had such a lovely figure, niece.”

You flinch and squirm some more. And then you begin to scream bloody murder. Aegon winces before grabbing part of your torn nightgown and shoving it in your mouth. “Such a noisy girl. Now, that’s better. You shouldn’t scream so much. I only intend to show you a good time. I promise you’ll love it.”  He smirks again. “Well… i’ll love it.”

His other hand trails up your navel, to your breast, giving it another squeeze. He then pushes you back on the flocculent carpet and what a sight you make with your hair splayed around you and your pretty mouth gagged. The pillows are strewn about you, in place so you can sit as close to the crackling fire as you wish. Now, it has become the perfect scene for Aegon to take you. He looks at you as if you are the maiden herself, descended from the heavens to be gifted to him. To him, your fairness outmatches Psyche… it outmatches Aphrodite. 

“You don’t know how long I have waited for this, princess.” He then rips your remaining small clothes off, leaving you completely nude. His eyes just rake over you for a moment before he speaks.  “Ah, a sight I could get used to.” He leans down to kiss your breast, focusing on your nipple, focusing on making you feel good? He litters little marks all over before moving to the other and giving it the same attention. He then begins to methodically kiss down your chest, to your tummy, past your navel. You know what he intends his final destination to be. You keep your legs clamped firmly shut, not fully because you want him to stop, and partly because of the wetness that lies between your thighs.

“Hm, a little shy, are we? How sweet…” It isn’t difficult for him to pry your legs open and he grins at the sight of you dripping for him. “Naughty little girl, all wet for her uncle.” 

You turn your heat to the side so you don’t have to make eye contact with him. He grabs your chin and turns your head back. “No. You will watch as I fuck you with my tongue.” You try not to groan as he licks up between your legs, his eyes on yours as his pupils blow wide. He kisses, licks and nips at you, taking you to places in pleasure you’ve never been before. When his tongue pierces your entrance, you can’t stop the whimper that falls from your lips. You hope the gag muted the sound enough that he wouldn’t hear, but your hopes are dashed when he lifts his head.

“I think I want to hear all the pretty little sounds that you make. No more screaming though. Unless, they’re screams of gratification.” He pulls the torn cloth from your mouth but you keep your lips stubbornly sealed. He shakes his head and chuckles before he is between your thighs again. The man eats you like you’re his last meal but you don’t let a single sound out, much to his displeasure even if he can tell that you don’t do it with ease. 

“Why must you be so difficult?” He asks exasperatedly.

“I want you dead.” He rolls his eyes at the statement. “Perhaps you aren’t as good at pleasuring women as you believe.” That pisses him off.

“You’re such a little liar.” He flips you over so your ass is in the air and your chest and face are squished into a cushion, your hands unable to hold you up due to their bindings. “Perhaps I need to fuck that bratty behaviour out of you.” He says and you hear the rustling of clothes behind you. You know he’s undressing and you know there’s no way you can stop him from taking you now, not with how you have pissed him off, not with how your cunt is so deliciously presented to him. But it won’t stop you from trying.

“Aegon don’t you dare.” You say with all the confidence you can muster. You don’t fear your maidenhood being taken, you fear the possibility of a bastard being put in your belly.

“Don’t you ever presume to tell me what I can and cannot do, wench.” With that, he shoves himself inside of you, all the way to the hilt. You let out a strangled moan and he laughs. “No keeping your sounds to yourself now.” He then begins to piston himself into you, the head of him brushing your cervix with each thrust. You feel so full every time his hips meet yours. “Gods i’ve never felt a cunt so tight and wet.” His hands grip your hips roughly so he can bring them back with each thrust, making it feel like he’s hitting deeper inside of you. 

“Aegon…” You whine out and squeeze a little around him.

“You like it, don’t you? You like it when your uncle fucks you. I’ve taken you as a prisoner and now you’re moaning in pleasure as I use you. What would your brothers think, what would your mother think, if they saw you taking my cock so well?”

You just whine his name again in response, your head too cloudy to give him an answer.

“I want you to say it. Say how much you love having me inside you.” He fucks into you so deeply that all you want to do is obey.

“I l-ove it, uncle. I love it when you fuck me.” You whimper out again as he stretches you so perfectly.

“That’s what I fucking thought.” His finger comes between your legs to rub your clit and you almost scream. “God, you’re such a little cockslut. Am I your first, little niece?”

“Y-Yes…” You say softly and he grins.

“I thought so. Nobody gets so worked up like a maiden.” He rubs you harder, so fast that you see stars. You begin to squirm a little as your walls begin to squeeze around his thick cock.

He grasps your hair at the roots and pulls your head back so you have to look him in the eye. “That’s right, cum around my cock, baby. Do it.” You fully reach your peak with his command. He watches your face contort with pleasure as you finish around his cock, drawing out his own orgasm. He gives a few more hard thrusts before spilling his seed in you. “Good girl.”

You wince as he pulls out, feeling empty now. He easily manoeuvres you back to your knees and stands up with you at his feet. He tilts your chin up so you have to look him in the eye again.

“I’ll be visiting you much more often now. You don’t have the kind of cunt a man can handle only fucking once.” His thumb strokes your cheek. For the depravity he speaks, his voice is surprisingly soft

“I hate you.”

He smiles gently. “Hate me all you want. I can take it.”

taglist (comment to be added): General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey

[pricegouge]

Haul

Part Four MDNI

Master list | on ao3

slasher!trucker!141 x reader

series cw: dark fic. major character deaths, rape/noncon

chapter cw: whump. threat of rape.

"Now," Gaz continues, twisting you in John's arms until you face him, your head lolled against the captain's bicep. "About that cheek." You're almost proud of the venom in your voice. "Don't fucking touch it."

Exhaustion and general pain conspire against you, make you fall to the bed in grim defeat once your captors leave, barely even managing enough energy to test the lock. You want to scream and rage, tear the room apart in search of an escape - push the limits of your vocal chords screaming for help. Instead you collapse in a lifeless heap and cry until your throat aches, until the salt of your tears leaves a burning wake down your face. You don't know for how long you sleep. Fitful and restless as it is, you don't imagine you've managed more than a few hours but you have no way of knowing given there are no windows in your little room. 

It's hard crawling out of bed despite your general revulsion even touching it. Your whole body aches so acutely you're not sure where the pain is even emanating from, specifically, and it takes you a few minutes of flexing various limbs and appendages to determine you haven't somehow damaged yourself even more in the night. But you're at least as whole as you were before, if stiff from overexertion. 

Your relief is short lived though, and once you determine you can, you clamber out of bed and take a quick turn around the room, testing the lock once more and prying at seems in the wall just to be certain there's no egress hiding in plain sight. But your search yields nothing, of course, so you take to exploring the room itself. 

The tile underfoot is cold enough that you start with the footlocker, rifling through its contents and noting the wide range of sizes and styles. You can't decide which is worse, the possibility that the clothes you wear now once belonged to a previous victim, or the idea of your captors visiting a Salvation Army and throwing the widest range of sizes they could find into their cart like some sort of demented pre-puppy shopping trip. It makes your skin crawl, but you find some modicum of comfort when your search yields no children's clothes among the collection. 

As far as socks go, your only options are all cutesy and fluffy. It would bother you, except the cold bite of the tile makes you wary of anything thin so you pull a pair on graciously and continue your exploration of the sparingly furnished room. Aside from the bed and the little desk, there's an empty bookshelf and a bucket in the corner which makes you shudder just to think about. As if in warning, your tummy gurgles but you cross your legs defiantly where you stand. Instead, you head toward the desk and begin inspecting it, pulling out each drawer in turn only to be greeted by dust, more dust, and a ratty looking deck of cards - benevolent of them - but no pens or pencils, or anything really that could have been used as a makeshift weapon.

You bite back a groan of frustration, determination winning out as you begin to inspect the desk itself. It's a flatpack unit of some sort, solid metal legs and a laminated MDF top. Surprisingly sturdy, and anchored to the wall as you find out when you give it an experimental shove and it bites into your hip rather aggressively. No barricading, then, although it wouldn't do you much good anyway if you couldn't find another exit. Or at least a way to pick them off as they came through the door. Your eyes rove your limited options, landing on the small metal stool tucked under the desk. You tilt your head in consideration, giving it an experimental heft as you imagine beating the large men down with something so unwieldy. It would make you laugh, if it didn't make your shoulder hurt so much. 

Movement beyond your door has you stashing your stool away quickly, scrambling back to the bed to hide yourself under the blankets like some frightened child. It makes you sick, having done so, but you stand no chance against these men in your state and you know it.

These boogeymen don't bother with theatrics beyond the sounds of the locks disengaging. It's Kyle who appears first, pretty eyes scanning the room as if in search of threat before stepping to the side and allowing the captain to come through. It strikes you again how very big they are. In this tiny room, with its low slung, claustrophobia-inducing rafters and close- pitched walls, they stand taller than the bookcase, seem to loom near as broad as your bed. Kyle shuts the door behind them but it's almost unnecessary as you know in your bones there would be no slipping past them even if you weren't laid up sorer than a pussy in a pricker patch. 

"Good morning doll," John beams and you nod at him absently. Morning. At least you know you got a decent night's sleep, then.

"When the captain wishes you a good morning, you return the favor," Gaz warns and you nod again, swallowing.

"Good morning, John. Good morning, Gaz," you tack on when John raises a brow at you.

"A clever one, then. Good. That'll make this next bit easier." John's smile is almost warm when he comes to sit on the edge of the bed. Pleased, he nearly looks amiable and you can almost see how he's managed to bring this group of men to heel, though the notion makes you want to clobber yourself with your stool as soon as you think it.

With the added weight on the mattress, it's a struggle to stay leaning away from him. John seems to notice, crinkling his eyes at you in a way that would suggest warmth on anyone else. It just makes him look more unsettling, the gleam of his deep blue eyes more akin to the scales littering the ground of a fish market than to the ocean itself. 

"You're gonna have to let us closer, if you want Gaz to help with your wounds."

Your eyes flick to the other man, for the first time noticing the small basket he carries. You spot rubbing alcohol, some bandages, even a folded sling - they do not offer much relief, held in the hands of a man who looks like he'd much prefer to squirt the IPA into your eye.

"Gaz wants to kill me," you state, voice surprisingly bland.

"If I wanted to kill you, you'd already be dead."

John laughs when you flinch, though you certainly can't find the humor in the situation. "Gaz can be a little intense," the captain grants. His hand finds your knee in a gesture he probably thinks is comforting. "But I'm sure he'll warm up once he gets a chance to play." 

Your eyes dart between the two, heart hammering. If this is the moment, you suppose you can only be grateful it's not all four of them.

John's voice is stern when he continues, "Enough now. You want Gaz to be nice to you, you'll have to be nice to Gaz -."

"He -," you start, voice sharp despite knowing better.

The captain simply holds up a hand, silencing you easily. "You nearly broke Kyle's nose, pet. Look at that pretty nose," John commands, reaching out viper quick to get your chin trapped in his meaty fingers. He turns your face toward the other man, but he also pulls you closer to himself until you feel the scratch of his unkempt chops against your feverish cheek.

"Kyle here's as pretty as they come, inn'e? And you almost ruined that, just because you didn't know your place. It's no wonder he doesn't like you, is it?"

Gaz had wanted to kill you before you'd done that, though you don't think that's worth mentioning. "No. No wonder."

"That's right, pet. Smart girl. So what do we say to Kyle?"

"Sorry, Kyle," you recite obediently, every nerve in your body alight and on edge as you study his face for a reaction. He gives none.

"Gonna have to be sweeter than that, doll," John coos. His fingers flex ominously against your jaw. 

You only realize you're crying again when your voice comes out croaky. "I'm sorry for almost breaking your pretty nose, Kyle."

This time, Kyle smiles - or some approximation of it, at least. Relief floods you, strong enough you don't even mind when John suddenly drops his grip on your jaw. You flop to the bed as he stands from it, mustache twitching as he grins down at you. "Not so hard, was it? Now ask nice and he can help you with those scrapes, too." He nods at you from under his brow, face scrunching as he rocks up onto his toes, a dog with too much energy.

"Kyle, can you please help me with my… scrapes?" you ask, even though you'd rather cut your own fingers off than let any of them touch you. Even though you know there's not much he can do for your more egregious wounds anyway.

He doesn't see the same issues you do. "'Course, luv."

They start you off easy enough. Gaz inspects your hand first, pushing your sleeves up to gently prod at any discolorations he finds. John asks you if any of them hurt and you almost laugh when it takes you a moment to answer, forcefully pushing the pain in your face and shoulder away so you can reflect on the rest of your body.

"Not really."

"Where does it hurt?" Kyle asks, distracted as he cleans the patch of road rash on your palm with peroxide. 

For a moment, you stare at him from under your heavy, swollen eyelid, sarcastic even without comment. He doesn't even bother glancing up to acknowledge it before rubbing a brillo pad over the sore on your palm. "My face," you hiss, breathing deep when he ceases his scrubbing to inspect the wound again.

"Sorry," he says apathetically. "Still had some dirt in there. You were saying?"

You blink between the two of them, swallowing both your pride and the instinct to slap him. "My face. And my shoulder. My hip, a little bit."

"Saw that." John's eyes are heavy where they linger on the swell of your ass. You knew they'd been watching as you'd dressed, but it still sets a low simmer of panic off in your belly to hear confirmation. "That from when Soap ran the rig into you?"

"I think so."

"At least he didn't break her hip this time," Gaz mutters, and John sends you a patronizing smile when he sees the flicker of fear cross your face.

"No worries, love. She lived."

It slips out before you fully authorize it, "For how long?"

A stillness draws around them both. John's gaze turns cold and lifeless, face less animated. Gaz watches you from beneath his brow, mouth a grim line. When he does speak, John's voice is just as stiff as his countenance. "Longer than you will, you keep mouthing off."

It's funny, how the only defense you have against that is a million funny lines you could feed him right back running suicide sprints between your ears. Funnier still how quickly you're learning to ignore them. 

John's boots are heavy on the tile as he steps toward you, high treads nearly drumming one spike at a time as he takes care to walk slowly, heel to toe. When he stands in front of you, you have to crane your neck to see him because it hurts your bad eye to roll that far. 

"If I give you your rules while Gaz works on you here, you gonna be able to listen? Use your words," he tacks on when you nod once.

"Ye -. Ouch," you jolt, ripping your hand out of Gaz's when he presses his thumb meanly into the patch of road rash.

"Really think, luv. Cap hates repeating himself."

You glance between the two of them, both of them stern and unimpressed. "Maybe you should… wait?"

John's patronizing, crinkly-eyed smile is back. He pats you on the bad cheek. There's no force to it, but his palm is heavy enough to give you synesthesia for a moment, pain a physical thing which blooms red-ringed and vacant across your vision. "Smart doll. Now let's get you out of those clothes so Gaz can take a proper look at you."

There'd be no fighting them even if you were brave enough to try it. John manhandles you back to your feet with a strong grip on your good arm, his other hand cupping your ribs to avoid jostling your shoulder. It slides down to your hem once he gets you standing, thick fingers blisteringly hot against your clammy skin.

"Cold as a corpse, doll. We'll need to get you some more blankets, hm?"

You don't bother answering as he pulls your shirt up and over your good arm, your head getting stuck for a moment as he changes course to slide the sleeve down your bad limb. You're almost grateful, except then Kyle is loosing the stays of your pants and sliding them down your hips, tutting briefly at the massive mottling that paints your hip. His fingers are gentle until they're not, sussing out the epicenter of the contusion to dig a bony finger in and smirk when you yelp. "That hurt?"

"Yes," you hiss and he hums thoughtfully.

"Still have full range of movement?"

"I don't -. I think so?"

Gaz nods up at John and the older man reacts immediately, turning you until your back rests against his chest and wrapping his arms under your own to keep you upright. "Tell me if it hurts," Gaz warns, and then his hands are gripping your thigh, opening it wide and testing its range. 

An aborted noise bubbles up in your throat, dies off when John hooks his chin over your shoulder to get a better look at what Gaz is doing. Your breath comes heavy, lungs working hard enough to raise the band of John's arms with each inhale. The indignity is bad enough, but to have your crotch fully exposed, inches away from Kyle's concentrated face as they both look on, pretending to be uninterested in it makes you want to deflate within your own skin, shrivel up and die. You whimper when Gaz presses two fingers to your hip flexor, tears welling up in your eyes. 

"That hurt, doll?" John asks, mock concerned, whiskers brushing against your temple. You shake your head adamantly and John chuckles. "Feel good, then?"

"No," you wheeze and Gaz's thumb digs into your hip, making you fold in on yourself.

"Easy," John warns - yourself or Kyle, you don't know. He straightens you back up and flattens one palm against your flank, as if soothing an agitated horse. "That one hurt, didn't it? Is Gaz playing mean?"

Words fail you when the other man looks up at you with cold, ominous eyes. You don't need to be told to know inherently that John will not tolerate being lied to, but neither do you particularly relish angering Gaz by throwing him under the bus. "It's… fine," you settle on lamely, sighing in relief when they both accept it easily enough.

"Good here, cap," Kyle declares, lowering your foot back to the tile. They'd let you keep your socks on, blessedly. It's cold even through the ridiculous things. 

"Can I put my pants back on?" You ask eagerly, and John just laughs in your ear, still wrapped around you.

"Don't even want some knickers? Slag."

There hadn't been any underwear in the chest, otherwise you'd have put some on already, but you don't think that's worth mentioning. "I would like some underwear, yes. Please."

"Well, because you asked so nice." The hand on your ribs pulls away. From the corner of your eye, you see John reach into the front pocket of his cargos and then he's dangling a pair of basic cotton panties in your face. When you go to grab them from him, he yanks them away, breath hot and warm against your cheek as he warns, "Tomorrow you'll have to earn these. Understand?"

You swallow. "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes… sir?"

"Good dolly," he breathes, and when he shifts slightly to let you take the panties you think you feel the hard shaft of his cock against your back. "You just keep being smart and we won't have any problems, will we?"

"N-no, sir."

"That's right. Now put those on before I fuck you about it."

No need to tell you twice. John drops them before you can grab for them again, but you catch the cotton between your fingers as they fall. Scrambling out of his grasp, you bend to dress and ignore the low whistle behind you as best you can. Though you thank Gaz prettily when he hands you your bottoms. 

"Welcome, luv." You take note of how he sounds genuinely warm, perhaps the first time you've earned it from him, and resolve to try being more pleasant with him. "Now let's take a look at that shoulder."

He's nice about it this time, sitting you down easily on the bed before stroking his warm hands all over your upper arm. He squeezes gently in a few places, gives you a sympathetic smile when you cringe. He tests your movement again, face drawing tighter when he finds you can't raise your arm above shoulder height. Trying to be helpful, you inform him that you believe it's your collar bone and then his palm is there too, earning a pathetic little whimper when he presses a hair too hard.

"Sorry, luv," he mutters, but his fingers carry on tracing the bone through your thin skin, prodding invasively where it connects to your scapula. He shushes you when you cringe away, nodding at John briefly to keep you in place again. His fingers don't stop no matter how much you whine and bat at him with your free hand. He weathers it without so much as a glance, your attempts pathetic enough that John doesn't even bother to contain them until you've already made a few swats at Kyle's arm. "Think it's connected at least," he finally decides, touch turning soothing again as he sits back on his heels. 

"Fractured?"

"Hard to tell. Rotator cuff is inflamed as hell, but I'm hoping that's the reason she can't move very well."

"Ice and pain meds?"

"And the sling, to be safe."

"Think we can manage that, hm pet?" His voice is far too bright. You kind of want to vomit.

"Now," Gaz continues, twisting you in John's arms until you face him, your head lolled against the captain's bicep. "About that cheek."

You're almost proud of the venom in your voice. "Don't fucking touch it."

Gaz doesn't flinch, but John jostles you with his shoulder, his tone warning. "Language."

"You can't do anything for it anyway," you double down. It's strange how quickly your body jumps from resigned exhaustion to complete tension, drawn like a bow ready to fire. For the door or for a chest you're not entirely sure yet.

"Can tell the boys your mouth's out of commission for a few weeks."

Your breath stutters. Somehow, in all the nightmare scenarios you'd pictured in this new life, having to suck a cock while your face felt like it was collapsing in on itself wasn't one of them. "You would…?"

Kyle's gaze is heavy, but it's John who answers. A soft brush of knuckles against your swollen face, just enough to make you flinch and then he's there, whiskers like sandpaper against your skin. "We would."

In the end, Kyle doesn't touch you. He lets you do it, fingers feather light as he directs you to feel along the ridge of your eye socket first, and then down underneath, pushing on your gums through the meat of your cheek. You find it there, on the underside, up by your nose. Or at least you think you do - a clump of tissue so swollen and knotted you can't even feel the bone through it. It makes your whole body ache to touch it, and the noise you emit when pain blooms from your sinus cavity all the way to the cradle of your skull would be frankly embarrassing if you could hear it over the ringing in your ears.

They wait for you to settle, palms heavy as they stroke over your legs and arms. You want to fight them off, but you want comfort more so you allow this small trespass, turning into John when he drapes a blanket over you because you're fucking cold without your shirt, adrenaline response to pain leaving you a shaking mess. When you've come down as much as you're able, Gaz asks a series of questions which leave you confused, staring blankly at him as you answer as best you can.

"What's it feel like under there?"

"Hard. Swollen. But also tender?" It felt like if a slightly undercooked steak had pain receptors, but you're not sure that will be effectively understood so you leave that part out.

"On your good cheek, show me where it was exactly." You do and he clarifies, pointing to the fine bone below his own tear duct. "Not right here?"

"No."

"Can you breathe through your nose?"

"No."

"Any vision changes?"

You stop, think. "When I was running it went black. And when I touch it I can… see it?"

Gaz frowns, sucks his teeth. He directs John to sit you up straight and then tells you to follow his finger with your eyes as he moves it about. "Hold your head still," he corrects when his fingers wander too high and you have to tilt your head to follow.

"Hurts."

"Where?"

You point to the fine muscles behind your upper eyelid on your good side and Gaz's expression deepens.

"She broken?" John grunts, and something about the phrasing sets a panic alarm off in the back of your mind. 

"Not yet. Worried about her eye."

"And what do we do about that?"

"Ice, pain meds. An anti-inflammatory wouldn't hurt, preferably something for her sinuses specifically." Gaz spares you a glance that lets you know immediately he isn't saying everything. "And an antibiotic."

John sighs, sounding world weary. "Hard to get."

"Necessary."

"You think?"

"Definitely."

The captain contemplates a moment, then turns to you with that same uncannily cheerful expression from before. "Well, no use arguing with the doctor, is it? Up you get, pet. We'll get you dressed and let you use the bathroom, get some food in you. Have you feeling better in no time."

***

The restroom upstairs is nothing to write home about, but you'd take an outhouse over the bucket downstairs so you feel grateful all the same. They don't let you close the door, but Simon stands politely off to the side of it, his view obstructed by the frame. You're quick about your ablutions despite being hindered by your new sling, but you manage. The sight of the mirror hanging over the sink gives you pause as you approach it and you avoid it at first, concentrating on getting the toothbrush they've generously left for you out of its packaging. You rinse it off, apply the paste, note you can't smell the sharp tang of cinnamon, and then steel yourself for the reveal.

It's not quite as bad as you'd expected, though in some ways it's worse. Your face doesn't sag the way you'd feared it would, the thin bone of your eye socket apparently doing the lord's work of keeping your cheek from melting to the side. Still, you hadn't expected the swelling along your brow, or the broken blood vessels in your eye. You also expected the dark discoloration of normal bruising, but this is livid - a deep crimson layered under your skin tone which mottles in a way you've never seen before, speaking of fresh blood. It makes you weak to look at, gut churning unexpectedly. You duck away and settle yourself, knowing full well any more inflammation in your nose would be the death of you. You remember what Gaz said about an antibiotic and panic a bit, thinking of vomit in your sinus cavity. 

When you get yourself in order you brush your teeth, gingerly, afraid to push against your top gums too much on the one side. You ask Simon if you are allowed to take a shower and he tells you no, though he shows you where to find hair products, if you need them.

When you're feeling a little more human you follow him back to the break room area the boys had been at the previous night where he collects another bowl of bland soup from Johnny. You make no comment about it being an odd choice for breakfast, knowing full well you wouldn't be able to eat anything solid anyway. From there, Simon escorts you back down to your room, silent all the while, ducking below overhang on the stairs gracefully. John's still there, sprawling across the bed as if on a mission to remind you he owns it. You do your best to ignore them both, settling down at your desk to eat your meal while Ghost lingers at the door. 

"You can stay, Si," John comments blandly and the big man nods once, leaning himself against the door frame in a way that shows off how much bigger he is than it. "Feeling better, doll?"

You glance at John. "Yes, sir."

"How's the soup?"

"Good, sir. Thank you."

"You're very welcome. When you're done, come sit with me."

You don't want to do that, but neither do you want to sit here lingering while they watch you draw a bowl of soup out until it's cold. So you nod, eating it as fast as you dare before slinking off to sit next to John on the bed. He shifts to allow you more room, revealing the pile of newspapers behind him in the process. Your gaze catches on them and you remember what he said the night before, eyes going wide as saucers as it finally registers what rules he wanted to discuss earlier.

John notices, of course he does. He chuckles darkly, retrieving the pile of old paper and placing it on his knee. Front and center, a photo depicts a large gathering of police cars, yellow caution tape fencing off an obscured patch of shrubby roadside. 'Woman Found Dead Outside of Grants, Police Suspect Foul Play,' the headline reads, and you fight to keep your breathing in order.

"Let's start here, then, shall we?" Despite his tone brooking no argument, John does not move until you look at him. "I have here the headlines associated with seven murders, pet. These are the ones that have been found, and were interesting enough to garner media attention - do you know what I mean by that?"

You nod, eying the pile of papers again. It's much more than seven articles, which means he followed investigations as well - which means the investigations were interesting enough to be written about. Your mind scrolls through endless thumbnails of true crime drama, the most gruesome killers getting the most hours of screen time.

"It means we've killed more than this, for a start. Easy ones, like your friend. Collateral. They never really get much attention," he scoffs, flicking the top page irritably before taking its top corner and flinging it off to the side. The next one tells of a missing woman found dead outside Moab, Utah. "She was a pretty one," John comments blandly, "though not as clever as you. Only kept her a few weeks. Waste of time, honestly."

He turns the page again, lets you read about the sexual assault police believe she was subject to in the days before her death. You're only aware of how shallow your breathing has become when you start to go a bit light headed.

"These ones, the ones we keep, they get some more attention. More so, the longer we keep them." The next headline must've been written by a real asshole, the humor in it tasteless and mean, 'Woman Returned Home After Six Months - In a Body Bag.'

"Do you want to see why?" John purrs, already thumbing the page.

"Please, no," you sob, shoving at the papers childishly. 

John just laughs, holds your wrists not ungently. "That's okay, doll. We have all the time in the world to read them together, when you're ready." When you need a reminder, he probably means, though you know better than to call him on it. "I just wanted to get that out of the way, to clear up any confusion you might be having about your stay here, hm?"

There's no helping the tears that stream down your face, even knowing how much you're inflaming your cheek. You nod, beyond words, and John hums at you, sickly sweet.

"You'll get used to it, I promise. You're a clever one, the clever ones always do well."

Until they don't.

"I didn't even need to tell you what your punishments will be if you really displease us, and already you know it will go bad for you. Do you think she's our cleverest doll yet, Simon?"

You'd nearly forgot he was there, gaze flashing to him where he leans, unphased. "Picked 'er for a reason, didn't I?"

"Yes, and a very good choice indeed." John'sthumb hovers threateningly over your abused cheek. "But be more careful bringing them in next time."

Next time. Your stomach turns to stone.

"Yes, sir," Simon rumbles.

"So pet, are you ready to go over your rules?"

You'd rather go poking around your eye socket again, really. "Yes, sir," you sniffle instead.

"Good girl. First, some housekeeping." He points over his shoulder at the bucket in the corner. "See that lightswitch there, by Simon?" You nod when the big man motions to it, though it was hardly necessary as it is the only switch in the room. "That does not control the lights. That is actually a clever little device which rings a phone upstairs when flipped up. Go on, Simon." 

He does as told, gloved fingers flipping the switch up and leaving it. Above, in the office, an ancient-sounding landline rings until Simon flips it back down.

"If you ever need something, you can call us that way - though I recommend you use it sparingly," he warns. "It is also how you will let us know when you need to use the facilities." Despite yourself, your stomach clenches excitedly at that, eager to be proven wrong about the bucket. On queue, John points over his shoulder at it. "That is for emergencies only. We're not animals, but we're not always available - and we're not unreasonable. If we come back to a mess after being away, we will clean it. But if we're home and you've simply failed to ask first, you will be the one to clean it. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good," he says, unnervingly cheery again. And then his face drops, dead serious as he continues, "You will earn your keep here by making yourself available to us whenever we wish, is that clear?"

You knew it was coming, but it doesn't stop the ice bath of nerves that washes over you, skin prickling as you stammer, "S-sir?"

"You will not fight us, or try to stop us. If you do, you will be hobbled in whatever manner we see fit. Nod if you understand."

It takes you a moment, tears obscuring your vision again as you blink between the two men desperately. They do not flinch or rescind the statement, and you nod.

"You will not whine," John hisses, wiping your tears away with a thumb that nearly blinds you as it pulls across your cheek. "Or cry, or be miserable. If you are, you will be put in a gimp mask so we do not have to see it. Do you hear me? Shut that up," he hisses, pointing sternly at your face.

Your lip wobbles, one last breath shudders through you as you try to calm yourself, but your voice is surprisingly even when you respond. "Yes, sir."

"That's a good doll. In return, you'll get two meals a day, and shower every other. Does that sound fair?"

"Benevolent, sir," you snipe, nerves too shot to help yourself anymore.

John huffs, humorless. "I forgot how funny the clever ones can be. Did you, Simon?"

"It's been a minute, sir," the larger man allows, not really answering the question.

"It has, hasn't it? Do you think this one will ever be clever enough to earn some time upstairs?"

It's embarrassing, the way you perk up at such measly bait, but one night in the cold basement was already more than enough for you, and even the warehouse seems like a good goal to work towards after the hours spent alone in the dark. 

"Remains to be seen, sir."

Next>>

[spinji]

Ranking Class A's Future Designs Worst to Best

Sato

RIP for your hairline dude

Aoyama

Feels like I could pick him up by that bag handle ass hair. Also the clowns pants just aren't it buddy.

Todoroki

Stop cutting their hair it makes it look like they're balding early.

Sero

Why did you get a manicure before this!?

Iida

Helmet looks great but I swear if you kept that haircut from graduation you better keep it on

Uraraka

Unsure if I like the longer hair (maybe tie it back?) but the fingerless gloves are a nice touch

Kaminari

Somehow manages to look way cooler and way dorkier than he used to. Did he put hot rod flames on his pants??

Tokoyami

Starting to look like an old bog witch but I swear I mean that as a compliment

Ojiro

Only time the haircuts have worked for me. The all black suit looks great on him. If you're gonna jack anyone's style there are worse options than Hawks.

Asui

Knows she already had a peak design. Don't fix what ain't broke.

Yaoyarozu

The lower ponytail looks way better on her and she finally got rid of that damn gap in her costume. Easily the best improvement over the original design.

Shinso

You are never beating the Eraserhead fanboy and/or lovechild allegations

Koda

If you told me in 2017 that Hori managed to make this design look sick as fuck I would not have believed you.

Kirishima

Suprised but glad he didn't go for a more obvious Crimson Riot homage. He's giving big grizzly bear vibes and I love it.

Midoriya

Keeping his baby face and 5'6 stature was so important to me. The new costume looks great but please don't run in and break it Izuku, it was SO expensive!!

Shoji

BARKBARKBARKBAKRBAKRBAKRBAEKBARKBARKBA-

Bakugou

I know we all made fun of the little lit fuse rat tails but they are so perfect for him. His costume looks so much sleaker and professional now, especially the gauntlets.

Jiro

No one is doing it like her. Swapping the jacket for a vest looks so good.

Ashido

She really should have taken the Alien Queen hero name, emphasis on QUEEN

Hagakure

Horikoshi already drew her too beautiful. An improvement would be impossible for human hands to achieve but I know in my heart she is as perfect as anyone could be. We stan our freak goddess.