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#my writing
solsticat · 3 days
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around a year ago I had an incredibly realistic dream where I was hiking and stumbled off a cliff. I managed to grab into a ledge, but I was hyper aware that eventually I would lose hold of it and fall to my death. I just sat there holding the ledge for a while thinking about everything I was never able to do, the conversations I never had, and how badly I wanted to live. Eventually I came to terms with my untimely death and accepted that there was nothing I could change, and it wasn't really okay, but it would have to be okay, and I'd had a good life. If nothing else, I was glad for the life I had been able to have. I wanted my last thoughts to be peaceful. I was about ready to let go when my family came along and rescued me. Some other stuff happened after that. Then I woke up and let me tell you I had a Bad Day. How are you even supposed to act normal after that.
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valeskafics · 2 days
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"Nothing Compares To You" - Feyd Rautha x Wife!Reader
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a/n: grouped a few similar anon requests together, hope y'all enjoy. just some fluffy feyd hehe 🩷
Summary: Things change between you and Feyd when he learns of an attempt on your life.
TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, physical violence, arranged marriage, pregnancy, tooth rotting fluff
Word Count: 2,000
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Dune characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷
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Feyd’s uncle always taught him that love was weakness. That he should never let it cloud his mind or judgment. So, when he saw you for the first time, the young woman he was fated to marry, he did his best to ignore the pang in his chest, the longing brewing inside him. He ignored your kind smile, your gentle demeanor. He laid with you on your wedding night, doing his husbandly duty, but beyond that? He rarely sought you out. Feyd knew his coldness confused you. But he couldn’t afford to let himself fall in love with you. So keeping you at an arm’s length was the best option for everyone. Feyd has never known how to care for something, for someone. All his life, he has known only violence and pain. How in the world is he meant to know what to do when it comes to you? His sweet, gentle wife? The one who looks upon him with such sadness when he goes to his concubines after dinner every night instead of to her bed?
Feyd has never been cruel to you. But he has refrained from showing you the warmth it is that you so clearly crave. You share your meals together in sustained silence, you make your appearances together without him giving you the affection it is you desire. And each time he sees you, his will to keep you at a distance weakens. His resolve hangs on by a thread that grows more and more precarious with each passing day. Every gentle smile you give him despite his aloof demeanor, every graze of your hand against his. Slowly, but surely, you have begun to wear him down.
The day you are attacked is the day everything truly changes for the two of you. He receives word from one of his slaves that you are in the hospital wing. Feyd races as fast as his feet can carry him, finding you laying there, your body battered and bruised, your body and face marred by injuries. There is an unpleasant sinking in his chest as he gazes upon you, turning to the doctor and demanding to know what happened. He shouldn’t be surprised to learn that this was the handiwork of his Harpies, but he is. Rage bubbles up inside him. He had explicitly demanded that they never touch you. And the simmering flame of his rage grows to a fiery inferno at the doctor’s next words.
“We are lucky the na-Baroness was found when she was and that she didn’t lose the baby, na-Baron.”
His child. That one night, your wedding night, had borne fruit. You were carrying his heir. Feyd grits his teeth, the steady rise and fall of your chest the only indication that you are still alive. You look so small and fragile laying there in that bed. It makes him sick. It shatters everything in him that he thought he knew. Feyd’s only thoughts are of you now, of his need for you to wake up and look at him with those soft eyes, to hear your sweet voice once more. He stays at your side for the next three days. He ignores his uncle’s demands that he join him in matters regarding the administration of Giedi Prime, roaring with anger that his first and foremost duty is to protect you and his unborn child.
Three days later, you wake, your eyes fluttering open, your voice raspy and weaker than he’s ever heard it before as you question, “Feyd…? What happened?”
He whispers your name, rushing to be at your side, helping you sit up. It physically pains Feyd as you groan and wince in pain, his touch uncharacteristically gentle and doting as he brings a cup of water to your lips. After a few moments of allowing you to catch your breath, you speak again.
“The last thing I remember was the Harpies…”
Feyd does his best to hold back the snarl of rage that threatens to escape his lips, wiping your feverish brow as he explains, “They tried to kill you.”
“Kill me?” You question incredulously, your blood pressure and heart rate rising on the monitor, “Why? You haven’t even touched me since the wedding night! I’m no threat to them!”
He takes a deep breath to calm himself, his fists clenched as he remembers how you looked. Lying there unconscious, vulnerable and defenseless. A sweet, innocent woman caught in a cruel fight that was never yours to begin with. Everything has changed for Feyd in this moment.
“They attacked you because they know you carry…”
Your eyes go wide as the realization hits you, lips parting in shock, “I’m pregnant? But we only… We only ever slept together on the wedding night! Surely just one time couldn’t have resulted in a pregnancy.”
The corners of Feyd’s lips turn up in a slight smile, his gaze soft as he murmurs, “Sometimes it only takes one time, little one.”
You frown at the pet name ever so slightly. Feyd knows that you must be confused by the sudden tenderness he is treating you with, his complete 180 in demeanor. However, you shake your head and face him again, a new determination in you. A mother’s strength as you rest your hand on your stomach, protecting the unborn baby in whatever way you can, fire in your eyes and a steely resolve to you that makes Feyd feel a strange rush of desire.
“I want them gone, Feyd,” you demand firmly, gazing into his eyes, “I don’t care that they’re your concubines. Find new ones. I want them gone.”
He nods, “Do you want them punished as well?”
“Banish them, execute them, I don’t care. I just want them away from my baby.” It’s strange, but he relishes in your demand. In the power in your voice. Something stirs inside of him at the sight of you like this as you continue speaking, “And I promise you, Feyd, if they don’t leave? I will. I don’t care who you spend your time with. I know this wasn’t a love match. But I’ll be damned if your Harpies touch my baby ever again.”
Feyd’s head is spinning as he nods, your voice still echoing in his head, answering without a moment’s hesitation, “They will be executed. It will be done.”
“Good.” You lean back, wincing slightly in pain, waving him away when he tries to assist you, “I’m fine.”
“I don’t want you to feel pain,” he blurts out, your pain becoming so unbearable as if it’s being inflicted on his own person, “You are not fine. You’ve been hurt. I cannot have that.”
You scoff, “Really? You haven’t cared about me at all these last three months. Is it different now that you’ve bred me?”
Feyd’s heart sinks, anger spiking inside him. There is truth to your words. He has done his best not to care for you since the day you came to Giedi Prime. But he is done pretending. He clenches his jaw, meeting your gaze.
“Don’t speak to me that way. I’m your husband.”
“I will speak to you in whatever way I wish,” you retort sharply, your glare harsh enough to intimidate even the bravest of men, “Your playthings nearly killed my baby. I want those murderesses gone.”
It’s strange. The old him would have snapped back with a callous remark. But the man he is now, the man who thought he was going to lose you? He feels something he has never felt with another woman. He feels like he is yours. Completely yours. Your servant. He tries to give you a stern gaze.
“You are bold tonight.”
“I am a mother now. It is not only myself I have to protect.”
Your doctor returns, declaring that you will require two weeks of bedrest. That you will need to be accompanied at all times. You scowl, exclaiming that the whole thing is ridiculous, but Feyd smiles, saying he will be glad to care for you as you recover from your injuries. He lifts you into his arms, spiriting you back to the bedchamber the two of you were meant to share. The one he never came back to after that first night. He smiles to himself at seeing how you’ve made it your own, little touches here and there that make it so quintessentially you. He lays you down on the bed, watching you glower up at him.
“I have slept alone every night even since we’ve been married. I intend to continue doing so.”
Feyd shakes his head resolutely, “No. You will not. I will stay here and care for you.”
He watches as you struggle to make yourself comfortable in the plush bed, his heart squeezing uncomfortably as he catches a glimpse of the bruises that litter your body. You lay on top of the quilt, groaning slightly as he moves to help you.
“You don’t need to look so guilty. It wasn’t your fault.”
You sit up and he moves to sit beside you, his fingertips gently tracing the bruise that goes up your neck, whispering, “How could it not be my fault? I have failed you. As a husband and as the father of your child.”
You shiver slightly as he continues, his hand moving down to rest against your chest, feeling the beating of your heart, “You couldn’t have known how ambitious they were. You’d given them an order and expected them to obey. They were yours, you thought better of them.”
Feyd leans in, resting his forehead against yours, rasping, “They were mine, yes. But you are mine as well. You are my top priority.” His hands move to caress the curves of your body, groaning at the feeling of your soft flesh against his palms, “Don’t keep me away. I was selfish. And scared. My uncle always taught me love was a weakness. And when I first saw you, I knew you were the only woman who could ever make me fall in love. My body, my heart. They ached for you every single day. I was so afraid of losing myself to you. You tempted me with every smile. Every kind word. Every touch.”
“You’re a fool,” you murmur softly, your hand reaching to touch his cheek, “Temptation is when you are not meant to have something. Feyd, you’re meant to have me. To love me. You chose to slake your lust with your Harpies. Did you think I would not have welcomed you into my bed? You’re my husband.”
“They never compared to you,” he replies, his fingertips tracing the Cupid’s bow of your lips, “Nothing compares to you.”
“I’m well aware.”
He chuckles as you grant him the greatest gift he could have ever asked for. That sweet smile of yours. Aimed at him. Feyd leans in and kisses you, his touch rough and demanding. He does not know how to love gently, but when you trace his cheekbones with your fingers, your touch so soft and soothing, he nearly freezes in place. He moans against your lips, laying beside you, holding your body close to his as you continue to engage in this languid kiss, slowly exploring each other’s bodies. He refuses to take you, not in this fragile state. In two weeks, when you are recovered, he will claim your body once again. But for now, he’s perfectly content to lay here like this, kissing his sweet wife.
“I don’t mind your nature,” you whisper against his lips, “Your love is violent. Mine is gentle. We can have both. We need both.”
Your words, your presence, it all lights a fire within him as he continues to explore your mouth with his tongue, the taste of you being committed to his memory, wrapped in each other’s arms, finally experiencing the marital bliss you two had robbed yourselves of.
Feyd knows now that love is not a weakness.
His love for you makes him strong.
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kendalzu · 3 days
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RIDE TILL YOU CANT NO MORE.
boothill x reader | HEAVY SMUT | improper use of gas tank | improper use of USB cord. | riding fingers | cowboy man rhrhhrrhhrrhrh 🤤🤤🤤 | dom to sub teehee | BOOTHILL BRAINROT.
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“just like that my honey— ride them just like that. make yourself feel good.” Boothill hissed into your ear, his sharp teeth threatening to nip at your oh so sweet neck. your moans echoing against the small room you guys were in, he kissed you harshly to shut you up.
“honeybun— shut up, you don’t want to get caught now do ya’?” his fingers curling up into your tight hole. but you had enough of his teasing and ‘mean’ remarks. you found the hole below his back, and managed to stick one of your fingers in the hole.
“hey now— that’s not.. mmgf.” his sweet whimper made you want more from him, so that’s exactly what you did. he was so adorable— putting up a face for you, but touch the right places and he will fold. his humanoid metal figure turing his gears— quite loudly..
“honey, shut up now will ya?” you mocked him while inserting one more finger inside him, making his mouth tremble and fight back his moans, but he just couldn’t help himself. his eyes were telling you everything that you needed to know.
unexpectedly— you started toying with the USB’s to the side of his waist, dragging your finger across the rectangular window of wires. if it was possible for cyborgs to cry, he would be sobbing right now.
the pleasure was all too much for him, he whined and begged you to stop or he would shut down from pure pleasure. “honey, honey please! you can’t do this to meee..” his words extended, legs bucking before his eyes went black— he shut down.
the night ended with some kisses, and you bought him home to recharge him.
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whathorselegs · 3 days
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At some point, what I really want in BSD is for Atsushi to fight Chuuya. Like, idk the reason, maybe to settle an issue between the mafia and the agency, instead of a war they pick a fighter.
Atsushi just expects it to be Akutagawa, because that's who he's always fighting but then Chuuya shows up. Because he's the mafia's top fighter, of course they're gonna choose him. I want everyone worried over Atsushi, I want conflicted Dazai trying to stop it happening.
But the fight goes ahead. You can tell at first Chuuya is toying with Atsushi, testing the waters, trying to get him to take the fight seriously, because Atsushi has a habit of holding back. Chuuya gets what he wants, he says something that gets under Atsushi's skin, so the kid goes at him full force. Everyone's waiting to see a squashed tiger.
Except Atsushi used his claws. His claws that cut through any ability, including Chuuya's seemingly invincible shield of gravity. And Chuuya's stood there, with four deep gashes going from his shoulder, down and across his torso
And he's grinning like a mad man.
Because, finally, he's got a fight he as to try in, an opponent who not only can stand up to his ability but slice right through it. He's got to think, he's got to use his skills outside of his ability and Chuuya's ecstatic.
Chuuya still wins the fight, but that means the conflicts over now. So he holds out his hand and helps Atsushi up. He says he fought well, has a good teacher but he's got a long way to go. And to Atsushi's absolute horror, Chuuya gives him the highest praise he has, "Can't wait for the next one."
Now Atsushi has to deal with two mafia men regularly jumping out at him and demanding a fight. But where Akutagawa's demands sound like death threats, Chuuya's have the energy of a very excited dog trying to force you to play fetch with it.
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anawritez-posts · 3 days
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𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐭
Summary: Y/N and Theo Nott, bitter enemies, find themselves alone in a closet during a party. He pleads that she kisses him till he's sick of it.
masterlist | taglist
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Y/N stared at Theo Nott, her sworn enemy, with a mixture of disbelief and apprehension. How had they ended up in this situation? Seven minutes in heaven at a party, of all things. Fate had a cruel sense of humor, it seemed.
As they stepped into the closet together, tension crackled in the air, thick with unspoken animosity. Y/N folded her arms, trying to maintain some semblance of composure despite the fluttering nerves in her stomach.
"So, here we are," Theo remarked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Seven minutes. Let's make the most of it, shall we?"
Y/N shot him a glare, her jaw clenched tight. She had no desire to spend even a second more than necessary in such close proximity to him.
Theo leaned against the closet wall, his eyes fixed on her. "What's the matter, Y/N? Cat got your tongue?"
Ignoring his jibe, Y/N shifted uncomfortably, acutely aware of the limited space between them. She could practically feel the animosity radiating from him, threatening to suffocate her.
Suddenly, Theo's expression softened, and he took a step closer, his gaze intense. Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as she braced herself for whatever snide remark or taunt he had in store.
But instead of words, Theo surprised her by reaching out and cupping her cheek, his touch gentle yet firm. Y/N's breath caught in her throat as she instinctively recoiled, but something in Theo's eyes gave her pause.
"Listen to me, Y/N," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know we're not exactly on the best of terms, but right now, at this moment, I need you to trust me."
Y/N's brow furrowed in confusion, but before she could respond, Theo closed the distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that stole her breath away.
For a moment, Y/N was frozen in shock, her mind reeling as she tried to process what was happening. But then, inexplicably, something shifted within her, and she found herself responding to Theo's kiss with a fervor she didn't know she possessed.
Their lips moved together in a dance as old as time, each movement fueled by a potent mixture of desire and defiance. Y/N's hands found their way to Theo's hair, tangling in the soft strands as she pulled him closer, unable to get enough of the taste of him.
Theo broke away, his chest heaving as he gazed at her with a hunger that mirrored her own. "Kiss me," he demanded, his voice husky with need. "Kiss me again."
Y/N's pulse raced as she met his gaze, her resolve crumbling in the face of the overwhelming desire that consumed her. Without hesitation, she leaned in and captured his lips once more, losing herself in the heady rush of sensation.
As they kissed, time seemed to stand still, the world outside the closet fading into insignificance. There was only Theo, and Y/N, and the electrifying connection that bound them together in that moment.
And as Theo whispered against her mouth, his words a promise and a challenge rolled into one, Y/N knew that this was only the beginning of something neither of them could have ever anticipated.
"Kiss me until I am sick of it," he murmured, his breath hot against her skin.
And she did.
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villainousauthor · 2 days
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Hero stares down at the paper in front of them with mounting dread. Their stomach is all tied in knots, and they feel a cold sweat at the back of their neck.
"You know, you don't have to do this if you truly don't want, I'm not forcing you." Villain purrs behind Hero, voice against their ear. The threat is unspoken. If Hero doesn't sign, they'll continue with their rampage. Continue killing, destroying, maiming.
The pen shakes in Hero's hand as they continue staring down at the paper. It's just a piece of paper, made of thick cardstock, cream white. Yet Hero has been staring at it for fifteen minutes, as if it'll bite them.
Certificate of Marriage
The font is too pretty, all stately and official looking. Hero feels as if they may throw up any minute.
"I don't understand why.." Hero finally finds their voice, asking the question that's been bouncing around in their mind since Villain first pulled the paper out as they suggested a truce.
"You already know my terms. In exchange for leaving your hero friends unharmed, for leaving the civilians of the city unharmed, I want you." Villain's voice is something possessive, filled with fire and heat. "This just makes it more official. More binding."
Hero shudders, and they feel as Villain steps closer behind them, a dark shadow looming over them. They know this goes beyond simply wanting to make their agreement more binding and they both know it.
"You know it's not legitimate- it's not legally binding without an officator." Hero stumbles over their words, not even sure if that's true.
Villain snorts, not usually one to be worried about legality of course. They put a hand to Hero's shoulder, warm and rough.
"I can find a priest to threaten. No one needs to know how and when we signed. Unless you'd rather make a big ceremony of this." Villain's tone is now teasing, amused by the idea of a wedding. "That could certainly be done if you prefer."
Flushing hot, Hero shakes their head quickly. No, they would not prefer that. This is already nerve-wracking and humiliating as is. A part of them wants to outright refuse, to tear the paper the shreds, and throw it in their face, but Hero knows this is the chance to get Villain to back down.
"I wouldn't be unkind to you." Villain says, voice suddenly softer and more serious. They lean forward, face resting against Hero's neck. The most terrible part is that Hero knows they mean it. They wouldn't be unkind or cruel, and that makes this all the more difficult. "You'd belong to me, but I'd take care of you."
Hero already knows there's no choice. They knew from the beginning that there was no other option. They have to do what is best for everyone else. Shakily, they finally nod.
"So selfless, so sacrificial to others." Villain says as they place a feather light kiss against the shell of their ear. "We'll have to work on that once you're with me."
They take Hero's hand currently holding the pen in their own, their grasp strong, as they lift it to the paper.
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wynnyfryd · 3 days
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paint it black 🎂🖤🎂
written for the @steddiemicrofic bonus round ‘birthday’ + 290 words in honor of @steddieas-shegoes’ birthday | rated M | pure fluff
Steve’s hands are stained black when he greets Eddie at the front door. His nails, his palms. Eddie follows the trail of dark speckles up Steve’s forearms to the smeared streaks on his apron, the smudge at the tip of his nose. It’s all over his mouth, too, like he tried to eat black lipstick.
“You going for a goth look today, baby?”
Steve put his hands on his hips; presses his lips into a flat black pout. “Food dye is a dangerous business.”
“Oh?” God, he loves when Steve gets all grumpy baker boy on him. He wades into Steve’s space, fingers hooking into his belt loops, pulling him flush and planting a soft kiss behind his ear. “So if you’re covered in food dye…” His tongue traces an inky smear on the side of Steve’s neck, “does that mean I get to eat you?”
“Oh, my god,” Steve rolls his eyes and shoves him, a brilliant blush working up the tight set of his jaw. “The kids are about to be here any minute.”
“Mhmm,” Eddie agrees and wiggles his fingers over the lip of Steve’s jeans.
Steve bats his hands away. “So behave!”
“Fiiiiine.” He lets go and throws up a Vulcan salute. “Scout’s honor.”
“Dude,” Steve despairs, covering his face with both hands. “No. Can’t believe I let you fuck me.”
Eddie cackles, and Steve grabs him by the hand and leads him into the kitchen. There, on the counter, stands a homemade birthday cake, made to look like the 20-sided die from Eddie’s favorite set.
“Holy shit,” Eddie breathes. “You made this for me?”
Steve’s pretty pink blush is all the way up his cheeks now. “Yeah.” Jesus fuck. Eddie might cry. “Happy birthday, baby.”
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It's A Special Death You Saved (Feyd Rautha x Female!Reader) pt.4 (final)
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a/n: we did it Joe! this chapter officially marks the first ever series i've completed lmao. thank you for all the support on this fic, every like, every comment, every out-of-pocket anon ask.
Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (like...fr this time), Blood and Violence, Manipulation.
Summary: After the wedding, Husband and Wife work out the intricate web of their relationship.
Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3
Gurney looks at you as if you're already dead.
You hide from his gaze, ducking behind pillars, whenever you can hear his footsteps. It's truly depressing, the way your mentor shakes his head, as if, instead of looking at you, he's looking at a coffin. You suppose he might be right, he's the one with the most experience in the Harkonnen area. He's fought them, dined with them, seen their customs through and through. And now, his dutiful little student is about to be thrown into the very same world, he has relayed to you as a nightmarish fairytale. Still, a little misplaced optimism wouldn't kill him. Or just, a sliver of hope, an inclination that you might survive this. 
The day of your wedding rolls upon you like an oceanic storm, all chaos and rumbling. 
Here you sit, your bones locked with nerves, as the servants pack away your things. A futile thing, you muse to yourself. It's highly doubtful the Harkonnens will let you keep any personal items back from Caladan. They'll mold you into their image, until all your hair naturally falls out. The thought would make you laugh, but here's a servant, placing your jewelry into a case, which lands in a bag, which will be transported to the Harkonnen ship by the end of the day.
Your room, the place you've spent all your life in, slowly becomes more and more barren. 
The closet stands empty, so do the drawers. All your trinkets are swiftly transported away until you're left alone in your wedding dress, the only familiar thing between the hollow ribs of your life's sanctuary. Wishing you could fold the entirety of the castle, with the stables, and the horses, and the cliffs, and throw it into the final suitcase, so you can open it up in times of turmoil, and breathe in the familiar scents. You need to leave, right now. Sitting like this, wrenches a dangerous numbness out of your chest. And you can't be allowed to dissapear into yourself. You're an Atreides, you shall wear your pain with dignity, as per your Mother's wishes.
Your wedding dress swishes around you, as you stand up from your bed. It's much more classy, and less of a chiffon catastrophe, than your engagement dress, a welcome change. The veil is embroidered with light crystals and metal plating. It falls heavily over your face, and jingles when you move. By all intents and purposes, it is a dream dress. A dress you'd like to wear for a wedding of your own, a wedding with some dashing gentleman. A gentleman, which in your most private of dreams, has the face of Duncan Idaho, with silver rings braided into his hair. 
Instead, you're left with this monster, so alien and cold. A beast at the center of the maze.
The bull looks at you from the wall. Its horns, smeared with your Grandfather's blood, curl grotesquely into the ceiling. The head is mounted above the doors to the library, a grim reminder of his spectacular death. As a child, you'd spend hours, standing right here, at the entrance, staring at the animal's head. You've always wondered, whether it were the lights playing tricks on your mind, or you saw a shadow of pride in the bull's eyes. 
Did it know who was its victim? The leader of one of the most important Houses in all known universe laid dead at its feet. Did it know what sort of spectacle it produced? What destruction of hubris? You suppose it couldn't, it was an animal, after all. A headless creature, hung on a wall. Still, you stare at it, just like you used to, trying to decipher your own fate from its cold, dead eyes.  
After all, there will be a spectacle, a life-long fight stands ahead of you. Giedi Prime shall be your arena, dead and cold, covered in black. And every single Harkonnen will be your bull, their mere presence a deathly danger to your being. It took one bull to end your Grandfather, you dread to think how many it'll take to end you. There will be blood, you're sure of it. And if things were allowed to go your way, it would flow in rivers upon rivers, through the industrial halls of Giedi Prime. You'd have the entire planet drowned in their blood. Your cursed betrothed, the Baron, the fucking Emperor if you had to. 
The bull laughs at your quiet hate, beady eyes bearing down upon you in an imaginary display of indifference. You huff, cheeks reddened, insides twisted and burning.
That's how your Father finds you. Enchanted by a once living instrument of death. 
He hasn't spoken to you, since your betrothed has arrived, not really. Not like you used to talk. A way to shield himself, you supposed, from the Emperor's order, which will soon enough take his only Daughter away from him. This was your superpower. You could fish out signs of love in every action. 
- Your Mother hates that thing - he comments, as he stands next to you, eyes looking up at the bull. 
- I don't blame her, the sight is quite disturbing. - you reply evenly. 
You've missed him, more than you can possibly explain with words. But teary displays of affections were below you, especially since you're trying to distance yourself, rise above your body, float right out of your head. Perhaps it'll hurt less that way.  Duke Leto Atreides turns to you, and for the first time in a month, you recognize your Father behind this statue of authority. He looks troubled, for lack of a better word. There's much more gray on his brow and the lines of his face are darker, harsher. 
- I came to give you something - he announces, producing a small object out of the pocket of his trousers. 
It's harder than you thought, tearing your gaze away from the bull, but you manage, your eyes landing on a figurine in your Father's hands. Your heart stops, as you recognize the blackened stone, polished to perfection. On a flat disc stands a figure of a Matador, proud and posed. Next to him, a bull, ready to strike. It's cold to the touch, when you take it from your Father, ridges of the small sculpture digging into your palm. 
Jumping in front of danger, for better or worse. Your head starts to hurt.
- Father - the sound of your shaking voice carries through the corridor - How will I ever survive this?
By the way Duke Leto Atreides sucks in a sharp breath, you can deduce the answer. And what a sad answer it is. 
Your Father steps closer, gathering your trembling hands in his, the warmth of his embrace engulfing you like the first sun rays of spring. He squeezes your fingers, tightening your own hold on the small figurine, and his eyes are so incredibly sad, you're convinced they could make any heart in the universe weep. 
- With courage - he says - and grandiose. 
Like a true Matador would. 
***
Your bull stands completely still. 
His pale skin creates a beautiful contrast against the ever present darkness of the Harkonnen ship. It's so much different from your native fleet, all sleek and black, and efficient. Terrifying, but at the same time, strangely beautiful. 
The both of you watch, as the hatch is being pulled up, slowly but surely obscuring all sight of your home planet. Of your family, standing by the docking station like a funeral parade. It's only when you can no longer see them, your life sealed with a click of finality, does your betrothed, now husband, move. 
His hand grasps your upper shoulder, and you jump at the sudden contact. Your confused gaze is completely ignored, as the man drags you through the ship, taking large, hasty steps. 
Hairless faces swish past you, all so similar to each other, you're worried you'll never figure out who is who. The corridors of the ship wind and turn like a merciless labyrinth, a realization daunting on you, that you will never be able to find your way in this place. 
Suddenly, you're faced with a black door, which opens as soon as your husband walks up to it. His grip tightens and he basically throws you forward, watching you stumble through the entrance on weak legs. 
It takes you a second to gather yourself, as you instinctually settle into a defensive stance. The room you're in looks quite different from the rest of the ship. It's much more luxurious, one would risk saying cozy. With a gigantic, round bed filled with pillows, a dark desk, and a deliciously comfortable looking armchair. It all dims in your eyes, however, as you look up at your newlywed.
He stands right at the entrance, blocking the only means of escape with his tall frame.
Both of you are still in your wedding clothes. Your dress hugs your body in a way that is anything but comforting. His outfit is as black and sharp, as all his attire. It exposes his lean physique, clings to his warrior's physique. Terrifying, your brain summarizes, muscles freezing suddenly. Feyd Rautha looks at you with emotions you can't decipher in the low light of his room. Your room. Your marital abode. 
You can't breathe, lungs tighten painfull with the sheer thickness of the air between the two of you. Still, there's a certain power, residing in your bones, an inclination of a fight you're ready to put up, should he try anything. And by the way his brow bone settles over his darkened eyes, your husband seems to understand. What a terrifying thought. The sheer idea of finding a common ground with this awful man makes your guts turn. 
He doesn't even flinch, when the doors behind him slide open. You however, nearly jump out of your skin at the sound, cutting through the deafening silence of the bedroom. With furrowed brow you watch, as three Harkonnen women spill into the room. All of them completely hairless, lips pulled back in feral snarls, as they regard you with an emotion you can only interpret as contempt. Their bodies, clad in typical, Harkonnen garments, flow and slither, when they gather behind your husband, like three hungry lionesses, their black eyes flickering to him, to you. 
- Get her ready - Fey Rautha throws a command over his shoulder, eyes glued to you still, and his gaze drags itself across your body like tar.
This is the first time you've heard him speak since the wedding, and involuntarily, you cringe at the gravely sound. While he stayed silent, it was easy to forget who you're dealing with. But as soon as sound leaves his mouth, you're cruelly reminded of the roughness, and the strangeness of your life's partner. 
The three women stir behind him, hands sliding up his body in a gesture, that is almost too close to reverence. He does look like a young god, like some ethereal being, but you're too distressed to dwell on that thought. Instead, your arms encircle your body, a shiver of terror and strangely, disgust flowing over you, at the mere idea of these women touching you. Then, one of those three strange creatures moves forward. She has a stripe of black running down her bottom lip, and her face twists into a cruel smile.
She says something in a language you don't recognize. Probably a native Harkonnen. A rough bark, her disgusted expression translating the meaning better, than any dictionary would. 
 Still, you have no time to process the foreign insult, because as soon as words leave her mouth, your husband turns. His white hand grabs the woman's hairless head, as one would pick an apple from an orchard, and then, you see a flicker of true terror flash through the woman's face. In a smooth, deadly gesture, Feyd Rautha smashes her face against the wall, the resounding sound of her skull fracturing against the concrete is like the cracking of a whip in your ears. 
That's all it takes, one move, and she falls into a lifeless heap, sliding down the wall. 
A sigh escapes your lips, as your eyes stay glued to her body. You can't see her face. 
Your husband barks something towards the remaining two women, and they scurry towards you, heads hung low, bodies curled onto themselves. You don't know, whether he looks at you, acknowledges you in any way, shape or form. The doors close behind him, as he leaves you in the hands of his... Whatever these women are to him. 
They begin to strip you where you stand. Their hands peel off your wedding dress from your trembling body, and every move feels like tearing skin from muscle. You can't protest, can't do anything really. Dark, thick blood pools around the third woman's head, dripping between the tilled floor, slowly making it's way closer to your feet. 
When they pull you towards the bed, you say nothing. Let them massage your body with some ointment, which smells of heavy chemicals and scratches your throat. 
Their hands are unexpectedly delicate. You suppose they're too scared to take revenge on you, or perhaps, they just don't care. Doesn't really matter, because you do. You really care, despite yourself. Heart squeezes in your chest impossibly tight, when they help you up from the bed, and once again you're confronted with the white corpse in the corner of the room. 
The dress they pull over your body hardly qualifies as a garment in your eyes. It's made of delicate, sheer material, which barely covers anything, looking more like a courtain thrown over a window. 
Is this how he wants you, you wonder. Terrified, bare, always on the verge of something, be it tears or anger. 
One of the women steps in front of you, takes your hands in hers and rubs something into your cold bones. You try to catch her eye, try to decipher how to categorize them, as humans or as creatures, but she swiftly ducks under your inquisitive gaze. That is, until your eyes flicker towards the corpse once again. 
Her hand shoots up towards your chin, dragging you back to meet her onyx eyes. You can see the reflection of your own confused face in the void.
- You- she rasps, her voice a grating symphony of gurgles and growls that stumble over the common language - Soft.
Whether it's a warning, or a threat, you can't fully decide, but it doesn't matter. Those two words tell you more about your future life, than any book, any archived account. This is what the Harkonnens are made of. Sensless violence, outbursts of anger, dark blood. You swallow thickly, and nod, your expression hardening in the woman's eyes. She looks as if there's something else she'd want to say, but her head ducks at record speed, when the sound of the doors opening cuts through the air once more. 
For a longer moment you're completely devoid of words. 
Here stands you husband, some sort of fruit in his right hand, two daggers hanging from the belt on his trousers. His chest, white and (unfortunately) toned beyond belief stares back at you. His unoccupied hand makes a wide gesture, and the remaining two women scurry off towards their third, dead companion. With quick hands, they grab the body and drag it out of the room, letting the door slide closed behind them. Immediately, you miss their presence, unnerving as they are.
Once again, you're left alone with the na-Baron. 
His eyes float freely all over your figure, taking it in with an impassive stare. It's deeply unnerving, the way you're presented to him, the way he organized all of this, tailored it to his liking. You can't help it, the way your body begins to warm before him, skin becoming prickly to the touch, much too sensitive for the strange imitation of fabric covering it. Still, your mind stays sharp, and instinct kicks in, as you take a cautious step back, angling your bady away from him. 
- So, what now? - you ask, voice rough, eyes following his every move. 
And move he does, slowly advancing towards you. His feet, which you now discover, are bare, drag behind him. Grace and danger mix well within his movements, as he circles you, still without a word. You throat runs dry, when he bites the fruit in his hand, dark juice spilling all over his lips, drops rolling down his hands, his forearms. Your stomach churns. 
- Now - again you're reminded of the gravely tones his voice can carry - We consumate our marriage, wife. 
Somehow, your marital status sounds like a mockery spilling from his lips, and he laughs at the way your face scrunches.
- I don't want you to touch me - a lie, your entire body burns for any semblence of friction, but you're determined to keep some dignity.
To that, he nods his head in silent agreement, a gesture, which actually manages to surprise you. The fruit is thrown forgotten onto the floor. It rolls under the bed, and you fight the urge to reprimend your husband. Instead, you bite your lip. 
- I thought you would say that - he murmurs, coming closer, his breath fanning over your exposed shoulder. 
The hair at the back of your neck stands straight, and you crane your head to the side, so you can look him in the face. So he can see the disaproving expression, perhaps he'd feel a fraction of the hate boiling in your gaze. Then, you can feel something, cold and sharp, drag itself from the dip in your spine, all the way up to your shoulder blades. A gasp escapes you, and your entire body shivers violently. 
- That's why I brought these. - Feyd Rautha whispers into your ear, and you can't help but sway lightly in your place, as if his words have the power to physically move you.
Then, your hand closes around a metal object, and you look down to be met with a beautifully crafted dagger. The blade is silver, shiny, and unbelievably sharp. It fits into your grasp as if it was made specially for you, and the possibility almost makes you smile. Then, confusion creases your brow, and your husband flashes you a deadly, black smile, as he steps back a couple of steps. 
He's holding a blade as well, jet black and strangely matte, a perfect antitype of yours. There's a sort of lazy excitement about him, hidden in every movement. It reminds you of the way he'd behave in the arena, while making a spectacle of death for you and your family. 
- I though this would work on you - he muses, twirling the blade in his hand, and your muscles seize with realization. - And it definitely works on me.
The idea is preposterous, utterly scandalous. Using a fight as some perverse attempt at foreplay, your brain swimms with conflicting emotions. 
- You're being ridiculous - you attempt to diffuse the situation, but your husband doesn't budge, rolling his shoulders.
- Come on, wife - he snarls, with a sharp smirk - Don't you want to hurt me?
Something boils inside of you at his words. Some ancient, terrifying anger that you supposed, has always been there with you. From the moment you stepped onto the red carpet, leading you towards your undoing at the altar. Red, like the spilled blood still staining the floor of this bedroom. The rage, which you swallowed down, when you recited the vows, when you let him unveil your face, kiss you in front of the entire Atreides court. Now, it seeped through every pore in your skin, covering you in a tar like courtain. 
You hate your husband. You hate Feyd Rautha, the na-Baron of House Harkonnen.
Hate him for being your husband, for agreeing to this cruel match. For taking you away from your family, from your wise Father, and your strict Mother, and your sweet Brother. For ripping you away from love, which didn't even have time to properly bloom. Duncan's face dances in front of you like a taunting vision from an angry god, and your fingers tighten around the dagger. 
Feyd Rautha is right. You want to hurt him. You wanted to, before you even met him. 
- There you are - his lips pull back into a cruel, blackened smile of self-satisfaction - I was worried they took away all your venom, Viper. 
You'll show him fucking venom, you think, feet sliding on the floor, twisting your body into a dancing position. Two sets of shields click into life, and suddenly you begin to understand. 
This is your arena. This is your bull. 
This will be your battlefield for the rest of your life, for as long as you're able to withstand it. With courage and grandiose, your Father's voice haunts you, but soon after another echo rises in your mind. Your Mother, your teacher, her whisper slithers from your memory, a passing comment right before you're shipped off to Giedi Prime, when she squeezed your hand so tight, you were worried tendons under your skin would snap. 
Excitement and arousal flow freely from your husband's expression, as he watches yours harden. Something inexplicable settles over your features, a promise. You'll give him a fight of a lifetime, and he'll love it, every single time. It should unnerve you, the way his body lowers itself, like a panther ready to strike. It would've unnerved you some time ago. 
Now, however, it shows you a clear path to survival. This is how you take control.
Cold blood splatters from under your feet, as you jump towards him, a series of measured blows following closely behind. He blocks them, lets some be pushed back by the shield. Then, he's on you, brutal and unhibited slashes fly around your body, and you meet all of them with a blocking blade. You're pushed back, towards the wall, where remains of the previous killing still stain the concrete. Blood seeps into the thin fabric on your body, and you shiver in disgust, as it sticks to you. 
Your husband doesn't notice, his blade leaves a rather deep mark in the wall, as you duck under his arm, and avoid a nasty punch to the gut.
 Plap, plap, plap, your feet carry you through the room, as you try to gain some leverage. The mattress on the bed is surprisingly soft, when you climb on top of it, gaining the advantage of a higher position. An advantage, which is quickly torn out of your hands, as your husband grabs onto your ankle, tugging at it with such force, you tumble down in an instant.
Panic rises in your gut, as the world sins around you, and without really thinking, you let your mind flow into autopilot.
- Let me go! - the Voice tears out of your throat like a landslide, and Feyd Rautha throws himself off of you, his body colliding with the nearby desk. 
Books and papers crash to the floor with the force of his figure. Your head swimms, but you will it away, too focused on survival to care for your well-being. Both of you are panting, trying to recover from this sudden use of ancient magics. 
- I should rip that treacherous tongue right out of your skull - the threat would carry more strength, if your husband's expression wasn't absolutely dripping with unabashed lust. 
Never in your life has someone looked at you this way, and the shock of emotions is enough to pull you right to your feet. Your blade reflects the dim lights of the room, as you raise it high, body taunt and ready. 
- You'll never get that close.
A challenge, which doesn't even have enough time to properly resound in the thick air of the room, before Feyd Rautha pushes himself off the desk. Things clatter to the ground from the force of his movements, and you barely have time to react, when his blade sinks into your shield. Your body flies backwards, falling in heap with his at the foot of your marital bed. The edge digs into your back, your left hand pressed tightly into the mattress. 
He's hovering over you, panting like a wild animal, face illuminated red from below, where, just short of his juggular, your blade licks a stripe across his alabaster skin. His right hand is wedged between your bodies, dagger nicking you under your ribs. And you stay in this position, like a marble statue, your eyes melting into his, frozen in time. 
- You fought well, Atreides - his voice rumbles deep within his chest, and you can't help, but snarl at his words. - We would've taken each other to an early grave. 
Something dangerously close to fondness floods his features at the idea, and your fingers start to unravel, letting go of the dagger one by one. He doesn't have a chance to react, when your blade clatters to the floor, and your hand, now free, grabs the back of his head, pulling him down.
Your kiss opens the gates of hell, and soon, his own dagger is thrown across the room. You can't see, refuse to see, as your eyelids flutter closed. His lips are slightly chapped, but not any less delicious. Left hand thrashes in his hold, until he lets it go. Then, they both find purchase against his sharp cheekbones, and you hold him so tight, you might break his face with your ministrations. 
- I knew it would work - he pants against your lips, you can hear the smile in every syllable.
- Shut the fuck up - you snarl, fingers digging deeper into his skin.
He groans into the kiss, immediately forcing his tongue into your mouth, as his hands work hard to manouver your legs open enough, for him to slot in between. Then, his touch is everywhere. On your legs, he drags the sheer fabric up and down your thighs, as he carresses your skin, blunt nails digging into the flesh of your hips. They venture upwards, to grab at your breasts, they fight their way into your hair, where he pulls and scrapes. 
It doesn't matter, you think, when you hear the fabric tear, and the carefully chosen attire falls from your body. Nothing matters. 
You're boneless and defenseless against this one insidious emotion, which carries your every move, which compells you to arch your back, to reveal your running pulse under his searching lips. Feyd Rautha bites down on your skin, right where your neck meets your shoulder, and you respond in kind, head descending upon his porcelain skin. He shudders under your teeth and tongue, his entire body tensing.
This is how you take control, and you've never felt so greedy. 
His trousers aren't even fully off of his legs, when he enters you, clumsily and with urgency, bare feet sliding on the floor. Surprisingly inexperienced, he chases your core with his entire body, as if the heat of your insides in a completely foreign sensation.Your moan tears at the column of your throat, where his lips leave a trail of purple marks. The covers remains undisturbed, as your husband ruts into you, pressing your back harder against the edge of the bed. It's uncomfortable, it's hurtful, but somehow, it feels perfect for the two of you. Fucking like wild animals, not even able to make it onto the bed.
- I hate you - you repeat, like a mantra, broken voice cascading with every thrust. - I hate you, I ha- 
Your head rolls backwards, when a particularly hard thrust nearly breaks you, but your husband is here to help, his hand grabbing the the roots of your hair, bringing your head down, so you can watch as he performs a magic trick of repeatedly disapearing into your body. 
You're not sure who's blood his hand slips on, but suddenly, you're fully on the floor, your body crushed by his. Nothing stops his wild movements, not the sloppiness of it all, not the hard wails he tears from your body. If anything, the more strain his body is under, the more ferocious he's being. Your hand shoots up, all five fingers digging into his throat, and you're rewarded with an angelic moan, which almost brings you to your finish line. Almost. 
His head leans down into the crook of your neck, where he whispers something in Harkonnen, a gurgle of rough sounds, interrupted by sinful moans. He sounds so beautiful, so conflicted, for a second you consider being gentle with him. Alas, you hate him still.  
Another realization dawns upon you, as your feet kick with force into your husbands backside, to force him deeper, to keep him inside. This is still a fight. You're still on the battlefield, still waving a red flag in front of a raging bull. So, with courage and grandiose, your muscles tense, and you roll your husband over. 
The change in position makes both of you gasp in unison, as you sink down onto him. For a second, everything stops. His lips are red and swollen, sweat and blood mix on his skin, flow down in pinkish stripes. And he watches you, as one would a holy painting of a foreign god. With reverence and utter lack of understanding. You're fully aware the look is mirrored on your face. 
Slowly at first, your hips begin to rock, up and down, in a steady rhythm, that forces a shuddering breath to leave Feyd Rautha's lips. You bend down, to catch it, and because of your greed, you catch his bottom lip as well. The bite you give him is anything but romantic, and his hips jump from the floor, hitting a spot within you, you didn't know existed. He swallows your moan along with his own blood, and his fingertips map the curve of your spine, as you straighten upon him.
Fingernails latch themselves into the skin of his chest, as you speed up, chasing your own release and no one else's. Moans spill from your lips, the concept of shame abandoning your mind completely. Then, compelled by something dark and twisted you drag claw marks down his torso. 
His body shudders, and his hips lift off the ground, fucking into you with reckless abandon. The hold he has on the flesh of your hips is bruising, to say the least, but you did enough damage to call it even. Enough, to make your body tremble and tense up, as climax creeps up on you steadily. 
Like a shark sniffing for blood, he senses the change in your being, and as you tumble over the edge, a silent scream tearing at your throat, he suddenly rises into a seating position. His arms encircle you fully, pressing your sweaty bodies impossibly close, as he too finds his own end. 
It takes him second, to tumble over, filling you to the brim with ink. His head buries itself into your shoulder, inhaling your scent through deep gasps, each eliciting a broken growl from his chest. 
Your bones are gone completely, body relaxing and falling breathless into your husband's arms. After a while of sitting in complete stillness, he moves first. Strong hands lift you up, off of him, and you whine at the emptiness. 
Then, as a last hurrah, he throws you onto the bed, where your recovering body sinks into the soft mattress. It's heavenly, the way you seem to float in nothingness, head swimming from exertion. For a moment you don't even register him climbing into the bed with you, drunk on the fading tension seeping from your every pore.
The lights are almost completely out, yet his skin shines against the black comforter. You wish to see if he's flushed, like he was at the engagement party. Leaning on one arm, his fingers trail around the small wound under your ribs. Dried blood flakes off of your skin, and you shudder again. 
- I - you start, voice completely broken - I've never known hate, until I met you. 
You're not sure why you've said it. Perhaps, in this moment of serenity, truth seems to float to the surface much more easily. Or perhaps you're possessed, or worse, gone completely insane. Eother way, your eyebrows furrow, and Feyd Rautha leans down to kiss your forehead, gently. 
- If this is how your hate looks like - he whispers into your hairline, teeth scraping lightly against it - I dread to imagine your love. 
You'll never find out, you think, but for some reason can't fully vocalize it. 
He says something else, after a while, but your mind is becoming as heavy as your body, and as the day descends upon you in a heap of exhaustion, you fall asleep.
And while your story has nothing but suffering in the future, while there's death and mourning, and years of violence written in the stars for you. Right now, on the Harkonnen ship sailing through space to Giedi Prime, you sleep in the arms of your husband. Whether this strange symbiotic relationship will last, no one can tell, but there is hope, and what else could you possibly need? 
298 notes · View notes
mediumgayitalian · 1 day
Text
Nico is going to be smote by Hades.
As he trudges through the muddy lake water, seething, he weighs each elaborated murder he has planned for each member of Cabin Eleven against how harshly Hermes will punish him for it. Connor will be flayed alive. Travis will be cooked over an open flame. Julia will be strapped to a rocket and blasted into the sun. Alice will face death by a thousand paper cuts.
And Cecil.
Fucking Cecil.
Cecil Markowitz will face a death so tortuous and harrowing that the constraints of the crime cannot be adequately covered in any mortal tongue. Crucified is too light a term. Nico is going to kill him in a way that is unspeakable — to hell with Hermes and his wrath. Nico is going to smite his dumbass children himself, and it will be worth it.
His boyfriend waits for him, lips pressed together and eyes trained to the sky, on the dock, holding several towels.
“Say nothing,” Nico hisses, slamming his sword on the wood and dragging himself up after it.
“Wasn’t going to,” Will lies. He immediately begins to cough, face turning slightly red. “Well, if I were to say anything —”
“William,” Nico warns.
“I just mean to say,” he soldiers on, setting all but one of the towels down, “that you look —”
He cuts himself off with a quickly smothered giggle.
“I swear to all that is fucking holy, Son of Phoebus.”
He lets Will maneuver him about, towel turning almost black with all the mud it’s absorbing off Nico’s clothes. He has to move on to another towel once he’s finished just Nico’s arm, dripping the soaked towel with a wet plop.
“It’s not that bad.”
Nico stares at him, deadpan. In fact he has to swipe pond scum out of his eyes and hair to glare properly.
“I am the fucking Creature of the Black Lagoon, Solace.”
Will bites his lip, hard. A burst of laughter escapes anyway, heedless of his desperate attempt to smother it, and the worst part is that it’s gorgeous and it makes his eyes light up and his stupid face looks stupid divine, when he’s giggly about something, and it makes Nico want to crush him a little. In the facial region, with his own face.
Except his own face is covered in stinky lake mud.
And Will is laughing.
Hard.
“I mean,” he manages around giggles, holding up a new towel to dab at Nico’s face, “it brings out your eyes, honestly.”
Nico closes his eyes. He lets that sit for a moment. He exhales for ten solid seconds.
“William Andrew.”
“It does! I mean, it’s really the perfect shade —”
“Romance is actually, genuinely dead.”
“— makes them look very deep, actually —”
“I should’ve listened to Demeter and married a doctor.”
“— and lake mud has so many uses! Most of the microbes on you are excellent for the skin. Who wouldn’t want to be compared to lake mud?”
“Oh wait! That is useless advice.”
“And you didn’t even pick up any leeches! Just all this dark, beautiful lake mud, as brown and beautiful as your eyes —”
“I’m returning you to whatever lab you were created in. Obviously you’re defective and I want a new model.”
“— in fact I’ll write a haiku about it.” He clears his throat. “My boyfriend is so hot —”
“Enough,” Nico interrupts, slapping his semi-clean hand over Will’s motormouth before things get any worse. Unfortunately the mud still caked into the lines of his skin contrasts beautifully with Will’s sparkling eyes, making them even bluer somehow. That’s a felony. “Also, that’s six syllables, dumbass.”
“I’ll revise,” he shoots back, muffled.
“If you promise not to, I’ll move my hand.”
Will presses a kiss to his palm because he’s a sappy loser who knows exactly what he does for Nico’s heart problems, based on the wiggle of his stupid perfect eyebrows.
“Deal.”
Nico removes his hand slowly. He lifts it back up when Will opens his mouth, threatening, but luckily he changes course before Nico has to make good on the threat, leaning down to kiss Nico softly, properly.
“I’m crucifying your best friend,” he mumbles against his lips. “That is step one of a ten step torture process.”
“‘Kay.”
“His siblings, too.”
“Sounds good.”
“Hermes might grind me to dust, after.”
“Trying really, really hard to focus on something right now, babe.”
“Right,” Nico breathes. There is still mud drying onto him and it is the Worst, actually, and he still has several homicides to play out, but.
But.
He can spend a little time kissing his boyfriend first.
(As long as that will keep him from spouting any more damn haikus.)
216 notes · View notes
stevieschrodinger · 2 days
Text
Link to Part One
Link to Part Two
TW mentions of human trafficking, rescue, injury, trauma
Steve locks Eddie in the car which, yeah, okay, it makes Eddie jump a little reflexively at the quiet click of the lock. And it might just be habit, or whatever, because it’s a really nice car.
Or maybe he’s even doing it for Eddie’s safety.
It still feels like he’s been locked in, though, and Eddie finds he’s...really not a fan of how this feels.
Either way, when Steve comes back less than ten minutes later and opens Eddie’s side of the car, Eddie’s still not sure how to feel about it. Suspicion is hard to shake.
Steve kneels right there on the floor of the lot, “swing around,” Eddie does, watching as Steve pulls antiseptic wipes out of the bottom of the bag, opening a packet and lifting Eddie’s foot. Eddie hisses when the wipe makes contact, it’s cold and, even though surely most of the wounds have scabbed by now, it still stings quite a bit, “sorry.” Steve looks up at Eddie earnestly, big eyes and floppy hair and, well, the moles are cute.
And having an Alpha kneel on the floor for him, that’s kind of nice too. Maybe Steve really is that good looking.
He wraps Eddie’s feet in a bandage, some tube bandage over the top, Eddie still slurping on his peanut butter chocolate shake. He’s going to have the absolute worst shit later, he knows it, too much rich food all at once, after a really long time of non at all, but honestly, so worth it.
“When we get home, I’ll set you up in one of the spare rooms, and maybe we can order you some clothes?” Steve pulls the bandage comfortably tight around Eddie’s foot, a nice gauze pad wrapped around the sole for cushioning.
“Errr, I mean, I, before, I was usually a good will kind of shopper, you know? Maybe Target on a good day?”
Steve just blinks at him for a second, before that clearly sinks in, “don’t...don’t think about the money, if that’s what you mean, we can get you some clothes, really, I don’t mind.”
And Eddie’s sure as fuck not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, Steve’s already broke the bank on Eddie, what’s a little more, right?”
Eddie whistles, he can’t help it. Objectively, obviously, he knew Steve was loaded. There’s a difference between knowing that and…seeing it. This is like a fucking mansion. Well, it’s not like a mansion, obviously. It is a mansion.
Automatic electric gates, a drive that’s got to be a half mile long...and lawns. Trees. Land stretching off into the distance.
The house is fucking nice. It’s kind of sprawling...just the garage looks fucking massive on it’s own.
Steve sort of hovers around Eddie as he limps over the threshold, and, yeap, just as nice inside as it is outside. Very sleek and modern, big open spaces, lots of glass. Dark wood and bookcases filled with leather books and big paintings that look impressive but aren’t...well. Eddie’s not a fan, really. Eddie spies a building out the back, also lots of glass...Eddie’s money is on indoor pool.
“Something smells good,” Eddie says, as he limps further into the house, “smells kind of homey.” Which is true, something here smells vaguely relaxing. Kind of...comforting. Safe.
Eddie looks around as he gets further in, and the place is so big it is kind of a walk, it’s...really nice, but also kind of soulless. It doesn’t look lived in at all. And, Eddie frowns, something occurring to him for the very first time. Steve’s a good looking Alpha, and he’s fucking loaded, “will your, erm,” Eddie flounders, “partner, mind me being here?”
Steve laughs, seeing Eddie through to the lounge to sit on the couch, “don’t think I would have been able to play my part today if I were in any kind of serious relationship. Hagan would have known if I was seeing anyone, the press loves that shit.”
And yeah, all of that makes total sense, and Eddie feels kind of stupid for not putting that together. But it...doesn’t really make sense, considering Steve is, still, clearly, very hot and very loaded.
“Okay,” Steve plops a laptop into Eddie’s lap, open to a clothing website. “just open tabs on some stuff you’d like, and then give it back to me when you’re done. You’re going to need some clothes while Hopper tracks down your uncle, okay? I’m going to go and set up a room.”
Eddie’s just sort of rolling with it at this point, so he nods and smiles and then blinks down at a Tom Ford Slim-Fit Button-Down Collar Checked Cotton shirt...that’s nearly seven hundred dollars.
And Eddie would never, in a million fucking years, be caught dead in it. Honestly, he thinks he actually prefers the white nightdress.
Eddie looks at the drop down menu, clicks on ‘cashmere’ for shits and giggles, and then laughs to himself when the very first listing is a black turtle-neck...for over a thousand odd dollars. Fucking rich people are batshit.
Eddie manages to find a drop down that lets him filter out everything over two hundred and fifty dollars, and then he searches by lowest price first. He starts opening tabs, mostly inoffensive lounge wear – a large portion of which is very, very unfortunately beige.
Eddie hears Steve coming before he sees him, “just do it please Carol,” and he sounds...exasperated by whoever Carol is. Steve comes back and takes the laptop. He very very briefly frowns at Eddie over the top of the screen, but it’s over so fast Eddie’s not entirely sure he saw it, “you think you’ll want something more to eat later?”
Eddie did eat his weight in McDonalds a couple of hours ago...but he hasn’t been really full for years, “uhm, yeah, in a bit, maybe?”
“Sure, I’ll see what we have.”
And then Eddie just...sits there. He can’t actually remember the last time he just...sat on a couch. The only place the Omega at the ranch are allowed to sit is either the floor, when they’ve been told to, the table, but only when eating...and probably their beds in the dorm.
Sitting here feels kind of naughty, actually, sitting here, relaxing, comfortable and warm. Eddie touches the lush, velvety feel of the couch, it’s really nice, really soft-“chicken and pasta?” Eddie nearly jumps out of his fucking skin. Like he’s just been caught doing something he shouldn’t. Logically, he knows that isn’t the case, but his feet are tingling regardless.
Steve can actually cook, who knew? Well, it might only be a simple dish, browned off chicken chunks in something creamy and mushroomy, sitting on some pasta, but it’s absolutely delicious.
“We should probably get someone to look at your feet tomorrow.”
Eddie shrugs, nearly vibrating with excitement at the sight of garlic bread and trying his best to hide it, “always been fine before.”
“Still, I wouldn’t want them getting infected. Do you want me to tell Hopper anything about your uncle? I presume he will be busy for a little bit but…?”
Eddie swallows but...nods, Steve getting his phone and Hoppers card, “he’s called Wayne Munson, he’s my dads brother. He lives in a trailer park in, uhm, Hawkins. Indiana.”
Steve taps at his phone, “that’s not actually that far, we could...probably drive that, maybe in a day, once you feel up to it. I’ll see what Hopper says, see if he gets back to us tomorrow, I figure we've both had a long day.”
And that sounds...well. Eddie's running out of reasons to be suspicious, to question this, to question Steve. He has a little kernel of hope, real, genuine hope, growing inside him now...that this is true. That he's going to be free. That he's going to see Wayne.
Eddie nods, keeps eating, is thrilled when Steve offers him a beer, nodding happily. Steve withdraws it at the last second, “wait, just how old are you?”
“Errr…twenty one?”
Steve laughs, “try again,” but he does hand over the beer.
“Eighteen. I was there for a couple of years, maybe a bit longer, they got me walking home from school. Pretty sure my parents wouldn’t have, you know, noticed, probably best I don’t go back there, anyway. Quite a few Omega came through in the time that I was, you know, there...”
Steve’s staring off into space though, looking somewhere over Eddie’s shoulder, clearly not listening.“-oh.”
“Errr...Steve, you okay?” Steve looks like his brain has just stalled. Like completely shut down, “Steve, man, you’re freaking me out a bit here.”
Steve frowns, finally showing some life, his fork still literally hanging in air, half way to his mouth, “Tommy Hagan is probably being arrested.”
“I, err...I mean, yeah? I fucking hope he is?”
As Eddie watches, a bit of chicken falls off Steve’s fork and splats onto his plate, “right now, other than me, you, and the FBI...no one knows that. That Tommy’s being arrested, arrested for something fucking terrible.”
“Riiight…”
“He’s being arrested for something he can’t come back from. It’ll got public. His names about to be mud. His stocks are going to tank. Every part of everything Tommy owns is about to go up in flames.” Steve’s fork clangs onto the plate, “I’m so sorry, I have to go to work.”
“I...what?”
Steve’s already picking up his phone, his keys, sliding on his jacket, “help yourself to anything you need, I’ll be back...at some point.” Steve’s already calling someone, “I need you in the office, right now. I want Wheeler, from legal, make sure finance is there, actually, make sure Henderson has availability tomorrow,” Steve comes back from the front door, sliding a business card in front of Eddie, “no, right now, I’m on my way, twenty minutes.”
Eddie looks at the card; it’s Steve’s, has his email, office number and mobile on it, presumably so Eddie can get hold of him. Eddie’s pretty sure he just witnessed the first steps of a hostile take over, or something.
And now he’s in this massive house, all alone.
@stylelovechild @steddieonthen @marklee-blackmore @sticknpokelightningbolt @resident-gay-bitch @somegirlsomewhere @mugloversonly @weekend-dreamer7 @lololol-1234 @anne-bennett-cosplayer
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notjustjavierpena · 2 days
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Terror
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A/N: By popular demand! This turned awful in my brain very quickly. I know instantly that this won’t be everyone’s cup of tea, so please read the tags before jumping into this. Not everything is fun and games for hubby. 
Summary: Javier doesn’t think that he has nightmares about Colombia anymore until he suddenly does. The difference is that he also has you and the family that you have given him.
Pairing: Javier Peña x reader (no y/n)
Tags: +18, graphic description of gun violence, some gore, PTSD night terrors, major character death (but not really), panic attacks, domestic, cuddles, hurt/comfort, family time, love confessions, pregnant reader dies in this dream
Word count: 2.6k
Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54592621
Terror
Javier searches and searches to no avail. He walks with frantic determination between burning cars and bullet shells, occasionally hitting the latter with the tips of his shoes so they go cascading down the asphalt with a clinking sound. He doesn’t trip on them though, as his steps are sure, moving around the chaotic scene of the aftermath of an ambush by grabbing at whatever he can to push himself forward. 
He knows where he is but he doesn’t remember getting here, and he has no clue if he was involved in the shooting that has evidently occurred here. However, when he looks down at himself, he finds no bullet wounds and no tactical gear either. So why does he think that you are here? He yelps as he accidentally grabs the hood of a car that seems to have been burning for a while, the metal so hot that it scorches his skin. The heat radiating from the vehicle makes his body prickle with sweat, his shirt clinging uncomfortably to his skin that is riddled with damp sweat from anxiety. He clutches his burnt hand and continues down the never-ending street. 
Where are you? Where are they? He searches through several empty cars, nearly ripping the doors off of their hinges to get to you quicker. Perhaps you know where they are but he doesn’t even know where you are. 
When he gets to what feels like the hundredth car, finally reaching the end of the road that somehow resembles a labyrinth despite only moving forward, panic has started to rise in his throat. He calls for you but you don’t answer, and then he calls for Lucas in case he has managed to hide himself and his sibling somewhere. 
“Lucas! It’s alright, it’s just me!” He yells out but it’s just the echo of his own voice that answers him, “You can come out now, it’s over, te prome— (I promi—).”
Javier has turned the corner. It is the sight of Horatio Carrillo’s face that makes him realize that this isn’t real. Carrillo is dead, and he has been for nearly twenty years. Javier will never forgive himself for not having been there. He should have been there with everyone. It should have been him; he had had nothing waiting for him back in Laredo. 
In front of him, a row of children and teenagers are kneeling but he doesn’t recognize any of their faces. He has seen this scene before. He remembers doing nothing back then, and the thought is enough to make his gut twist with guilt and nausea even if nothing could have been done to change Carrillo’s attitude towards the kids. He hears a gunshot and a young child falls to the ground, head split open from the way the bullet has torn through soft, young flesh. He flinches in a way that he didn’t back then, in a way that only a man who is a father can. 
Carrillo’s blank and indifferent stare terrifies him to the point where he wishes that he could wake up. It is clear that this is a nightmare, so why hasn’t he woken up yet? Aren’t you supposed to wake up when you have figured it all out? He tries pinching his arm but nothing happens, and the claustrophobia of being stuck in his own head makes his chest constrict and his heart, too big for his rib cage by now, hammer with the speed of a hummingbird’s wings. 
The stare he is watching is not one of being rid of emotion but rather the look that washes over a face when the person it belongs to is dead. His old colleague is standing in front of him in a zombie-like state and Javier cannot shake the feeling that Carrillo looks less like a person and more like a thing. 
“Carrillo,” he says sternly. On the ground, the blood oozes towards his feet and he shifts to avoid it soaking through his shoes. 
His colleague turns to him but doesn’t say anything. He still has the weapon in his hand, arm stretched out, and pointing the gun at the row of innocent children. Javier speaks quietly despite his anxiety, “C’mon, they’re just kids. Look at them; they’re just ki—“
He turns to look at the kneeling figures but the faces aren’t unknown to him anymore. His blood runs cold at the sight of his eldest son who has his arms stretched out to hold Inés close to his body, effectively shielding her from any shot that may be coming at her at any moment. 
“Lucas,” he croaks, “¿Dónde está tu madre (Where is your mother)?”
“I don’t know, Dad,” his son replies, “I’m scared.” 
“I know, don’t worry, I— I’m gonna take care of it,” he replies with a dizzying heartbeat followed by the urge to throw up. 
It’s then that you appear too. His heart skips a beat as you materialize right behind your kids, pregnant with his child and vulnerable as tears stream down your cheeks. Your arms are in front of you, wrapped around your children as you try to protect them while whimpering in a way that makes Javier more than desperate. He tries to sound more assertive than anxious but listening to his own voice, he doesn’t feel very successful. He turns back to Carrillo who hasn’t moved the firearm even an inch, “For fuck’s sake, get that gun away from my family!”
“Están trabajando para Escobar, Peña. Si quieres justicia, entonces esta es la única manera (They are working for Escobar, Peña. If you want justice, this is the only way),” is the only reply he gets. Carrillo spits at the ground.
Javier takes a step forward but suddenly, a shot is fired at his feet and he is forced to jump back with his hands in the air. His eyes are pleading, his voice wavering, “Jesus Christ, Carrillo, they’re not working for him. Put the damn gun down! They’re mine. They are my kids. You’re pointing a gun at my wife!”
Lucas shifts on his spot on the ground. His knees can barely hold himself up anymore, gravel gnawing at his kneecaps but Javier holds out a hand to stop him, “Don’t move, mijo (my son). I know you’re scared but—“
But Lucas’ eyes are wet with terrified tears. He panics, throws himself to the side to crawl away and the ghost of Javier’s previous colleague seems to come to the conclusion that it is too risky to attempt a shot in the boy’s direction in case he misses, so instead—
Javier flinches at the loud sound of the gun going off. You lie on the ground in the next moment. He lets out a cry of anguish, crawling across the gravel road to get to you until his hands are scraped and his knees are dirty. The love of his life and his unborn child.  
“No,” he yells as tears spring from his eyes. He clutches at you whilst you breathe rapidly and try to hold onto him as well but your grip is slowly loosening on him with every beat of your heart. He can see the way your pulse slows in how your clothes soak slower and slower, knows where it is going. You try to say something but he cannot understand it, your voice having been replaced by gurgles of blood, “No don’t try to talk, baby. Shit, I— look, it’s not even that bad. Shh, it’s okay, baby. It’s not even that bad, it’s fine, you’re gonna be fine, mi vida (my life). You and the baby. I promise.” 
The same blank stare as the one that Carrillo sports washes over your face. He says your name over and over, “Mi amor (my love), no, no, look at me. No, no, no no no.”
Inés has started screaming in panic. She’s crying for you in the most heart-wrenching manner, terrified when you don’t react to her words like you always do. Her pitch climbs with each passing second but Javier has no strength to soothe his daughter because he yells your name until it feels like he cannot breathe. 
Lucas yells for his mother in the background. The agony of hearing his children cry mixed with hearing you say nothing is too much for him. He panics, shakes you violently— 
He jolts awake in the next moment to the sound of your voice. Fear still has him in its grip and leaves him disoriented, ready to fight whatever comes his way. He hyperventilates until he feels lightheaded and tries to figure out where he is, beads of cold sweat having collected on his forehead during his restless sleep.
“Javi,” you say with a hand on his shoulder and he whips his head around to face you. A moment ago, your eyes had been glazed over by death.
Immediately, he grabs your wrist in an iron grip. You place your other hand on top of his, speaking softly, “Javier. Let go.”
“Are you alright?” He chokes out and grips you harder, eyes wild in the dimly lit bedroom. He wants to run a million miles, “Are you alright?” 
“I am okay, baby. We’re both safe,” you reassure him with a hand on your pregnant belly. Tears start to roll down his cheeks. He is unable to shake the image of you lying dead on the ground, “Shh…”
“Are you sure?” He whimpers, eyes flickering from your face to your stomach and back to your face again. 
“Yes. It was just a bad dream. It was just a nightmare,” your voice is still ever so gentle and nowhere near the way it had been in his state of terror. He releases the clutch on your arm and you carefully run a hand over his forehead, “Breathe. Hold my hand. Tell me you love me.”
You offer your free hand to him and he carefully takes it, trying to convince himself that you won’t slip away from him in the dark bedroom. You squeeze his hand slightly. It’s a silly thing you came up with years ago. 
“I love you,” he says quietly, already feeling a little better but when you say it back ever so gently, he finds himself bursting into tears. He cries and it is the kind that comes from the very bottom of one’s lungs; frantic and breathy sobs that sound almost painful.
He thought that the nightmares had stopped. They had been bad when he first met you, and he connected it to his decreasing alcohol consumption because back in Colombia, he was sometimes too boozed up to even dream. However, meeting you - marrying you - had been a glimpse into a future where he could get better because you were together. So why does his brain still do this once in a while? 
“Pensé que te había perdido para siempre (I thought I had lost you forever),” he sobs when you engulf him in your arms. He rests his head against your soft chest, grabbing onto whatever he can of you to make sure you are real. It’s only times like these when his strong, broad hands feel unsure on your skin. 
“Oh, baby. I’m right here,” you rock him carefully in a way that a mother does, “I’m not going anywhere, te prometo (I promise you).” 
“No puedo vivir sin ti (I can’t live without you),” he continues. You reassure him that he won’t have to, that by then, someone will have discovered eternal life or made all of you into kind-hearted robots. Despite the chuckle he lets out, you also let him cry for as long as he needs to. 
It takes you a while to calm him down again, resting your chin on top of his head as he lets himself fall into you instead of going out of his mind. He mumbles, “Where are the kids? Where’s Inés?”
“They’re in bed,” you promise him, arms cradling him and rubbing his back until his breathing starts to slow again, “They’re okay. They’re just asleep.”
Except they are not asleep. Your hand stops moving on his back, and he looks up at you to find your eyes on the door. 
“Inés. Lucas. Stop standing at the door,” you say gently. 
“Sorry,” they say in unison.
Relief floods Javier’s system at the sound of his children’s voices. His chest expands as he breathes in deeply for what feels like the first time since he woke up. He watches their little faces, hears the click of the lamp on your nightstand as you turn on the light. 
“Is Daddy okay?” Inés asks carefully. Her eyes tell Javier that he has noticed the tears on her father’s face.
“We heard you yelling,” Lucas elaborates to his father, “Inés didn’t want to go in here alone. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize, sweetie,” your voice is sweet and calm. It is in these moments that he loves you the most; when you prove to be the anchor in any storm, knows that the only times he might actually get a good night's rest is when you are right here beside him. 
“Come here, mis amores (my loves),” he scoots a little away from you to open his arms. His children look uncertain for a moment but then Inés rushes forward to climb into bed and into his embrace. Lucas follows a moment after, the both of them earning a kiss on top of their heads. 
Inés’ eyes are wide as she stares up at him, “Papá, you scared me.”
“I had a bad dream,” he explains to both of them and attempts to smile, pulling them closer to his chest. They make faces as they are squished but he doesn’t let go, “but I’m okay now. I’m sorry for waking you.”
“Then why are you crying?” Lucas gets out of the embrace to study his face, shocked to see the tears running down until they drip down from his chin. 
“Daddy! You are crying!” Inés parrots her older brother as she notices too. She kneels in front of her father and tilts her head. 
“I am?” He asks, pretending not to know. Inés’ tiny hand reaches to wipe a few tears away without much success and his heart clenches in his chest with how lucky he feels to have such a beautiful family. 
“It’s okay to cry,” Lucas explains softly, “That’s what Mom says.”
“Alright, let’s give your father some space,” you lock eyes with your husband, cup his cheek for a moment before brushing away the last traces of tears from his face with the back of your hand. He smiles at you and it is completely genuine for the first time. 
“I don’t want to sleep,” Inés protests loudly.
“What if you both sleep in here for the rest of the night?” You bargain whilst still smiling at Javier, however a little more goofily now, “Just for tonight.”
Lucas is already crawling under the covers to cuddle up next to you, and Inés lays down next to her father. It takes a moment of quiet chatter and soothing caresses to make them both fall asleep again, their bodies exhausted from being awake in the middle of the early hours of the morning. 
Javier can’t fall back asleep but from the way you breathe, he can tell that sleep hasn’t found you either.
Outside, the first light of dawn has begun to filter through the curtains. There’s a warmer glow in the room now, and he peeks at you from where he lies, looking like someone catching a glimpse of their crush. 
"I love you," he whispers, his voice barely audible. 
You turn your head to face him and smile tenderly, the morning glow illuminating you from behind. You are so beautiful, he thinks, beautiful and pregnant, and he is so lucky. 
Your voice is filled with genuine happiness, warm and loving. You look down at your sleeping children, place a hand on your bump, and then look back up at him, "We love you too.”
.
.
.
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valeskafics · 1 day
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"Crazy In Love" - Dark Ex!Rafe Cameron x Reader
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a/n: a request from @eydi-andrius for crazy ex rafe heheheheh 🩷
Summary: Rafe doesn't seem to understand the concept of a breakup.
Word Count: 3,525
Rating: 18+, MDNI
TW: dubcon, afab reader, she/her pronouns, profanity, innuendo, intimidation, threats of violence (not against reader), jealousy, toxic relationship dynamic, references to mdma usage, stalking, choking, hair pulling, biting, fingering, slight degradation, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, topper is a cunt, jj is a little shit
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Outer Banks characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷
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When Rafe wakes up, he expects to find you cuddled up against him. That things are going to be business as usual. After all, when you said you wanted to break up, you still kissed him back when he pulled you in. So he’s going to assume that the stupid little idea you had of trying to get some space from him is long forgotten. That is, until he sees you pulling on your clothes, sitting at the foot of the bed, getting ready to leave without saying goodbye. You haven’t even put your shoes on, no doubt to avoid him hearing them against the hardwood floor. Rafe jolts awake, staring at you.
“Where are you going, baby? Don’t you want breakfast?”
“Oh, hey…” You trail off, turning to face him, “Uh, I have to get to work, actually.”
“But you’re off today.”
You shake your head, dropping your sneakers to the ground and slipping into them, giving up on any chance of getting out of Tanneyhill unseen, “Boss switched my schedule. I’m off Thursdays instead of Fridays.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that?” Rafe huffs, crossing his arms, “How am I supposed to know when to pick you up?”
“Because we’re broken up, Rafe.”
Rafe shakes his head, trying to hide how much that comment angers him, “No. We’re taking a break, if anything. We’re not broken up.” You don’t bother arguing with him, just continuing to walk to the front door, “Can I at least drive you to work?”
“No, it’s okay. I have my bike out front.”
He’s desperate now, and it seeps into his voice as he pleads, “Can I at least give you a hug goodbye?”
Rafe has always known how to get you to let down your walls for him. When he speaks to you, his voice cracking ever so slightly, letting you know he’s on the brink of tears. You turn to face him, your resolve faltering as you nod slowly. He pulls you into his embrace, arms wrapped tightly around your waist, his hands rubbing your lower back as he buries his face in your neck, inhaling your sweet scent.
“Can you do me a favor? Can we meet up later?” Rafe feels you pull away, your eyes meeting his as you silently question what he wants, “I think we should talk about us… Please?”
You shake your head, removing yourself from his embrace, “I’m sorry, Rafe. It’s Friday, so I’ll be really busy at work and I’m just gonna wanna go home after. I’ll see you around, okay?”
He watches as you bike down the road, farther and farther away from him, disappearing into the distance. Rafe tries to call after you, pain in his voice as he questions whether you care about him anymore. Whether you still love him. But you don’t hear him. Or maybe you just pretend not to as you bike further and further away from him.
He shouldn’t be this fucking hung up over you. Granted, you’re gorgeous and probably the first girl he’s ever really loved. But you’re a Pogue. You work at the Island Club. Hell, the main point of contention between the two of you is your friendship with the other Pogues. It’s no secret that Pope, John B, and JJ have all had crushes on you at one point or another. He’s pretty sure those feelings linger even today with how much they resent him for being your boyfriend. You always tried to assure him that it wasn’t the case, but Rafe knew. He could see the way John B’s hand would linger on your lower back when he helped you into that fucking van of his, the way Pope smiled at you, the way JJ shamelessly ogled you. It was bad enough to try and get Topper and Kelce to stop checking you out, but these three?
He’s the only guy who should be giving you any attention at all. You don’t need anyone but him.
He just needs to remind you of that little detail.
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You’re clearly trying to avoid him. Rafe knows that. But he’s not going to let that happen. He parks outside your house, a little ways down the road so he can watch you get on that bike and ride to work at the Island Club every day. He sits down at the restaurant there for the entirety of your shift, just watching you. Topper and Kelce ask if he’s ever going to go play a round with them, but he ignores them, his eyes locked on your figure as you wait on the guests. You always manage to switch tables with one of the other girls, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t see you.
Rafe isn’t over you. It’s been weeks since the breakup, but he knows he’s never getting over you. He watches as you smile brightly at the customers you’re waiting on before walking over to JJ, handing him the order slip to give to the kitchen. He hates it. He hates the way you giggle at whatever stupid joke JJ has made, he hates the way he leans in to whisper something in your ear, the way you don’t immediately push him away.
“Whoa… Is your girl with that dirty Pogue now?”
Topper’s words snap Rafe out of his trance, his head whipping toward him, voice coming out in a low snarl as he hisses, “What?”
Topper raises his hands defensively, exchanging a weary look with Kelce, “Oh, um, nothing, man. Sorry. Was just asking.”
Rafe grits his teeth, shaking his head, immediately staring at you again, hating that you’re so close yet so fucking far out of reach as he mumbles, “It doesn’t matter. I don’t even care.”
“Yeah, Rafe can do way better than her anyway,” Kelce adds, “She’s hot but she’s a dirty Pogue too.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Rafe glares at him.
“What? She is a Pogue-”
“I fucking said shut up, Kelce!” Rafe stands up, glaring down at his friend. Kelce shrinks slightly in his seat, not unused to Rafe’s mood swings, but surprised that he’s so angry despite claiming not to care about you anymore. Heads turn in the Island Club restaurant toward their table. Every head except yours. You stumble over something slightly while chatting with JJ, nearly falling, but he catches you, brushing a piece of hair off your face, the two of you laughing. And Rafe’s anger reaches a boiling point. He sits down with a low growl, yelling out, “God dammit!”
You walk over to them a few minutes later, your coworker having refused to take their table - no doubt after seeing Rafe’s temper tantrum. You greet the three with that ‘customer service’ smile, as you’ve referred to it so many times in conversation with Rafe.
“Boys. What can I get started for you?”
For a long moment, Rafe just stares at you, his lips slightly parted. You clear your throat awkwardly and Rafe finally catches himself, doing his best to ignore the way Topper and Kelce are practically undressing you with their eyes.
“Steak and potatoes,” he says flatly, looking back at the menu.
“I thought you were trying to cut back on your red meat intake-” You cut yourself off, shaking your head as if to remind yourself that he isn’t your boyfriend anymore, “You know what? Not my business. How do you want that cooked?”
“Medium,” Topper replies, leaning over Rafe and giving you a little smirk.
Rafe gives him an annoyed glare, his fists clenching, though he takes comfort in the way you snap at Topper, “I asked Rafe. Not you.” You turn to Rafe, “Medium well?”
He nods at you. You still know him so well. You always have. It’s been weeks since he’s had you in his arms, and it’s driving him crazy. He watches as you take Kelce’s order, just gazing at you intensely, and the way you scowl as you write down Topper’s order, muttering something under your breath before turning to leave.
Topper speaks up the moment you’re gone, “Why’d you even date a girl like her, man?”
“What do you mean a ‘girl like her’?” Rafe scowls.
“A Pogue.”
Rafe’s jaw clenches, “Keep your fucking mouth shut.”
You return a few moments later with their drinks, sensing the tense atmosphere. Rafe continues glaring at Topper, only turning to you when you place his lemonade in front of him. He hadn’t even ordered one. You just knew him well enough to know he would’ve wanted one. Then, Topper opens his big fucking mouth again.
“A Pogue’s the last person I would’ve expected you to date.”
Before Rafe can say anything, you give Topper a sarcastic little smile as you slam his drink down in front of him, one that Rafe knows all too well, “Maybe Rafe just has more substance than you.”
Topper looks at you, confused, “Substance?”
“Yeah. Substance. Like depth? Not to be confused with substance as in substance abuse. Like all the Molly you take that’s fried your fucking brain.”
It’s Topper’s turn to stand up, glaring at you, cursing you out, demanding you apologize, but Rafe simply shoves him back into his seat, watching the way you saunter off without a care in the world. You’ve always been like this. Confident, comfortable in who you are. Always willing to put people in their place. Hell, not even Rafe was ever spared from that.
He watches from a distance as you continue talking to JJ. He hates it. He’s so fucking jealous and he knows that you’re not even his girlfriend anymore, but fuck, he hates it. That smile? That should be for him. And when JJ wraps his arm around you, muttering something in your ear? He loses his cool. Rafe storms over to you, his voice a low, venomous hiss.
“Take your hands off her.”
Your eyes go wide at his words, “Rafe, JJ is my best friend-”
“Doesn’t matter,” Rafe says, ignoring your words, his jealousy growing out of control, “You don’t put your goddamn arm around a girl like that when her boyfriend is around. It’s disrespectful.”
“Oh, so I’m supposed to respect you, Kook-”
You cut JJ off, giving Rafe a sharp look, “You’re not my boyfriend anymore. Rafe, stop.”
He looks straight at JJ, wanting nothing more than to beat his ass into the ground, to wipe that smug little smile off his face, “I’m giving you five seconds to take your fucking hands off of her.”
“Okay, fine. If she tells me to.”
JJ’s response makes Rafe’s blood boil as he turns to you, gnashing his teeth, “Tell him. Now.”
You duck out from under JJ’s arm, speaking quietly to Rafe, “Let’s just go talk, okay?”
He follows you to the breakroom, running a hand through his hair. He watches the way you pace back and forth, pinching the bridge of your nose in annoyance, your eyebrows scrunched together in that way they always get when you’re annoyed. Normally he’d just kiss your forehead and everything would be fine. You’d smile up at him and kiss him and forget why you were pissed in the first place. But now, you just sigh.
“Rafe, we’re broken up. We’re over. You can’t just act like this.”
He takes a step toward you, “Maybe. But I still have feelings for you. And seeing another guy fuckin’ touch you like that? I’m not okay with it.”
“It’s not just some guy! It’s JJ, my best friend! This is why we broke up, Rafe, because you can’t stop acting like a jealous asshole!”
Rafe scoffs incredulously, shaking his head, “So I’m the bad guy for not wanting other guys to touch you? That’s fucking bullshit, Princess, you know that-”
“Don’t call me that! You and I need to move on, okay?”
“Move on?” He shakes his head, running a hand over his face, “There is no fucking moving on for me! Do you understand that? I fucking love you! That’s not something that happens for me! I fucking love you. And I can’t move on. No matter how much you want me to. No matter how much you wanna pretend we didn’t happen, I can’t fucking move on!”
JJ pokes his head into the breakroom, his brow furrowed at seeing how close you and Rafe are, “Everything okay?”
You nod quickly, “Yeah, Jayj, we’re fine.”
“Get the fuck out of here,” Rafe snaps without even looking at him, his gaze still trained on you.
“Come over here and make me, big fella-”
You shove JJ out the door, letting out another sigh before turning to Rafe, “Please just go. I’ll get fired. I need this job.”
Rafe nods before walking out the door, “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll go.”
He gives you one last lingering glance before leaving the room.
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It continues. Not for a second does Rafe let up. He’s constantly there, trying to get you to take him back. Your hangouts with your friends, dinner with your family, work. He’s always there. And you continue trying to ignore him. He’s fucking relentless. Rafe feels like he can’t even breathe without thinking about you, needing you back.
Today is no exception. He stands on the steps of your house, waiting for you to get home, elbows resting on his knees, a bouquet of sunflowers in his hands. He knows where you’ve been. Out on your first date since the breakup. A date with none other than JJ. He always knew the little fucker had a thing for you. He hears the two of you pull up, hears you telling JJ to just drop you off here. He watches as JJ helps you off his bike and helps you out of your helmet. He watches as JJ kisses you. Rafe inhales sharply, trying to calm himself, waiting for him to ride off before making his presence known, standing up as you approach your door.
You look so fucking pretty as you walk toward your door, freezing in surprise when you see him. Wearing that cute little sundress that hits your lower thigh, your beat up Converse. You’re so fucking beautiful. You do your best to ignore him, reaching for your keys, but Rafe speaks, turning you around to face him.
“You kissed him.”
“I… Were you fucking spying on me?!”
“Yes!” He answers without hesitation, “Yes, I was fucking spying on you! Yes, I’m fucking jealous! I’m completely batshit crazy about you! I can’t even sleep at night because I’m going insane thinking about you!”
“Rafe, we broke up, we’re over! Move on!”
Rafe shakes his head, tongue darting out to lick his lips, pinning you against the door, “I  can’t. You’re the perfect girl for me. The only one who’s ever understood me. When I’m with you… You make me better. Less angry. I can’t do this without you.” His breathing is ragged and his gaze desperate as he stares at you, all rational thought leaving his body, “But I need you to understand something. If I see you with JJ again? I’ll fucking destroy him.”
Your jaw drops, “What the fuck does that mean?!”
“I’ll hurt him. I’ll fuck him up, I’ll beat the fucking shit out of him.”
“No, Rafe, you can’t, let’s be rational-”
“Rational?” His voice cracks slightly as he laughs, pushing his hair back, “You want me to be fucking rational? I have been doing everything in my fucking power to get you back and you keep pushing me away. Going out with JJ? I’m so fucking past rational, Princess.”
You take a deep breath, letting out a tremulous exhale as you question, “What do you want me to do? What will it take for you not to hurt him?”
“What do I want you to do? I want you back where you belong. With me.”
“But-”
“No! I don’t want you to see him or hear from him ever again. I want you with me. Where you fucking belong.”
“And if I don’t come back to you?” You ask quietly, “What happens then?”
“Don’t make me answer that.”
“No, Rafe. I want to know. What happens if I refuse? You kill JJ, is that it?”
“Don’t fucking put words in my mouth, Princess,” he hisses, leaning down, his forehead resting against yours, “But yes. I’ll fucking kill him. And you know I’m capable of it.”
“You’re fucking insane-”
“No, no, no, this isn’t me being insane,” he laughs bitterly, his hand wrapping around your throat, holding you in place, “It’s me being what you’ve made me. You drive me fucking crazy. It’s your fucking fault. Your fault that I can’t get over you no matter how hard I try. Your fault I care about you so much I’ll do anything to keep you with me! And if that sounds insane, I don’t give a fuck. I’d rather be insane than lose you to someone else.”
You try to shove him away, fumbling with your keys, trying to get inside, but he manages to make it in with you, pinning you back up against the door. And when he kisses you, you hate yourself for it, but you melt into his arms. Rafe’s lips move against yours desperately, with a passion that you have never experienced with anyone else. His hand knots in your hair, tugging harshly. Your head falls back and he immediately begins biting at your neck, being sure to leave his mark. Come morning, everyone will see that you belong to him. That you always have.
“I hate you.”
Rafe’s hands move down your side, sliding under the hem of your dress to cup your mound over your panties, a dirty smile on his face as he murmurs, “Your pussy doesn’t. You could never hate me. You know I’m the only one who can love you like this. I’d kill for you. And there’s a sick little part of you that gets off on it. Gets off on knowing that I’m so crazy about you that I’d do anything to keep you.”
He’s right. You hate him so fucking much for it, but he’s right. He pushes two thick fingers inside you, making your lips part slightly, the hand wrapped around your throat squeezing harder as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. Your eyes roll back as he finds that sweet spot with ease, knowing your body better than even you do. He rubs his thumb against your clit, fingers moving in and out of you, ignoring your whimpering and whining, your choked gasps. Rafe stares down at you, his cock straining against his pants as he watches you come undone on his fingers. You look so pretty like this, staring up at him all fucked out. Needy and ready for him.
Rafe manhandles you onto your sofa, pushing your dress up just enough to reveal your ass, slapping it harshly once, twice, three times, admiring the way your flesh jiggles against the impact. He hooks his arm around your neck, his front to your back, as he pushes your underwear aside just enough to reveal your wet cunt. He pushes inside you with one fluid thrust, his fat cock filling you so fucking perfectly, the way it always does. You grasp at one of the cushions, moaning his name as he pounds into you, his arm restricting your airflow, his free hand slapping at your clit, making your entire body tremble against his.
“Yeah, you wanted this, Princess,” he snarls against your ear as he ruts against you, your vision blurring from the lack of oxygen combined with the pleasure he’s giving you, “Fuck, still so tight for me after I’ve fucked you so many times. Taking me like such a good little girl. My good little girl. All. Fucking. Mine,” he hisses, punctuating each word with a thrust, fucking you harder, deeper than ever before. You let out a whimper of his name, moving your fingers to circle your clit, only for him to slap your hand away, “Don’t be fucking greedy. You get what I give you, Princess.”
So you lay there and you take what he has to give you, the fat head of his cock rubbing against that spongy spot deep inside of you with every thrust. You moan his name, feeling his movements begin to slow, knowing both of you are close.
“Say it,” Rafe growls, “Say you’re mine. Say only I get to touch you, fuck you, love you like this.”
“I’m yours, Rafe,” you manage to eke out, eyes rolling back, “Only yours… Please… Let me come, Rafe, please…”
“Come for me, Princess,” he murmurs, rubbing at your clit furiously feeling the way you tighten around him, your walls hugging him tight as you reach your peak, his own following soon after, thick ropes of cum painting you white as he reaches his release, your cunt milking him for all he has.
He turns you onto your back so that you’re forced to face him, brushing his nose against yours as he whispers, “Don’t you ever try to fucking leave me again, Princess. You’re mine.”
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ginnsbaker · 24 hours
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fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (5/?)
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Part summary: With Leigh, it feels like for every step forward, you end up taking two steps back.
Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 5.600+ | Warnings Some angst, het stuff | A/N: Texts in italic indicate they happened in the past. We get an insight about R's past with Matt and a little surprise at the end.
Masterlist | Part I Part II | Part III | Part IV
-
You'd hardly expect to meet a decent guy on the street nowadays.
Though, to be fair, it's less about meeting him and more about running straight into him. At the moment, you don't give it much thought. You distinctly remember wincing from the impact, feeling solid muscle and jutting bones, and a surge of irritation bubbles up inside you because you're not exactly having the best day. But then, the man you ran into looks up, and his face is all apologies. 
He looks like he might cry if you don't forgive him, so you do. As you stand there, trying to process the situation, he notices the coffee spilled all over the floor—your coffee, which has now created a sad, dark puddle around your feet.
“Can I buy you another coffee?”
Despite the kind gesture, you find yourself shaking your head, more keen on changing out of your coffee-stained coat than sticking around any longer.
From a few steps away, his impatient friend calls out, “Are you coming, Matt?”
“Yeah, just wait a sec,” Matt responds, his attention still on you. You usually don’t trust men running into you without an agenda, but there’s something about him that tells you he didn’t mean to, and that he’s more than willing to make up for it.
“No, thanks. I got it…”
He looks unnecessarily worried as he leans in a bit closer. “You sure about that?” he asks. 
His brown eyes are the friendliest pair you’ve seen in a while. And being essentially alone in this new town, they pull you in like gravity.
“Y-Yes. Just watch where you’re going next time,” you stammer, attempting to stabilize your shaky legs.
“Matt!”
Matt nods hesitantly, then mumbles, “Sorry, I have to go. Again, I'm really sorry,” before his gaze releases you, and you feel its force that held you in a vice-like grip easing away. 
As you're walking away, you keep having to tell yourself not to look over your shoulder, even though every part of you kind of wants to.
You guess you must be really lonely, to cling onto the first bit of kindness someone throws your way.
-
Your deliberate attempts to bump into Leigh finally pay off one brisk Friday morning. But it’s not in the way you’ve imagined it would go.
The town is just waking up, the chill in the air biting at your cheeks as you take your routine jog through the quiet streets. You've discovered that running suits you better than yoga, mainly because it's something you can do solo, and you've always leaned towards activities where you can be by yourself. You’re tired, but you try to lift your knees higher with every stride, keeping your cadence in check.
Turning a corner, a sudden commotion catches your attention. A group of rowdy teenagers barrel down the sidewalk, loud and oblivious to anything but their own world. One of them, a bit too caught up in the fun, nearly crashes into you, forcing you to swerve unexpectedly.
In your effort to dodge, you step right into the path of Leigh Shaw. 
It all happens too fast; there's no chance for either of you to do anything else. You crash into each other, the impact sending a jolt through your bodies. You tumble sideways, your arm shooting out instinctively, breaking your fall and softening the impact as you land. Leigh lets out a sharp yelp as she staggers forward from the force of the collision, a look of shock quickly spreading across her face. As she falls, her knee scrapes against the rough concrete, and when she finally sits up, there's a noticeable gash, bleeding freely.
“Oh my god, I am so, so sorry,” you blurt out, horrified at the sight. “Are you okay? Can you stand?”
She grimaces, glancing at her knee, then back at you. “Well, I've definitely been better,” she says, trying to keep her voice light despite the pain. You give her a hand up, and as she leans on you for support, you can't help but notice she's dressed in denim shorts, a blue parka, and flip-flops—not exactly the attire for a morning jog. The sun's just starting to show its face, and you're left wondering where she's headed so early, if she's not out for a run or something.
Looking around, you notice the roll-up shutters of nearby establishments are still down, indicating they won't be opening anytime soon. It’s apparent that there's nowhere immediate to find help or a first-aid kit. You scratch the back of your neck, an awkward idea coming to you.
“I don’t think there’s nowhere we can ask for help,” you start, trying not to sound too anxious about what you’re about to suggest. “I've got a first-aid kit at my place, though. It's not far. We could fix you up there, if you're okay with it?”
Leigh takes a beat, and then gives you a nod. “I guess that's my best option right now. Lead the way.”
As you start walking, Leigh instinctively grabs your arm for support. Your foot have barely hit the pavement when she suddenly grips tighter, fingers clawing into your arm as she lets out a hiss of pain. The wound must have stretched as she bent her knee to take a step, and with the way she's limping, you realize making her walk is a bad call.
“Shit, I'm really sorry,” you apologize again, the situation dawning on you. This isn't at all how you wanted to run into Leigh again, especially after trying to find a way to reconnect since the dinner in her car. “Let me get an Uber.”
Leigh starts to object, but you're already pulling out your phone. The last thing you wanted was for your attempt to help to end up hurting her more.
-
“So, where were you headed earlier?” you ask casually, hoping not to pry too much. “Doesn't seem like you were out for a run like I was.”
Leigh’s injury is more severe than you first thought; after hitting a rough patch on the pavement, her knee took the brunt of the fall. The skin is scraped away in several places, revealing angry, reddened flesh beneath. 
“Grocery, or something,” Leigh mumbles, distracted and wincing a bit as you ready another dab of antiseptic for her knee. The moment the cotton touches the wound, she can't help but jerk away slightly.
“Sorry, sorry,” you murmur, soothingly, noticing she's struggling to stay still. To help steady her, you gently hold onto her calf, and that's when you feel your cheeks start to warm up. “I'll be as quick as I can,” you promise, trying to sound more confident than you feel.
“I’m okay. You're doing...fine,” Leigh sighs between clenched teeth, obviously trying to downplay her discomfort. 
You know you're not fine, certainly not in the way Leigh means. All you can hear is yours and Leigh’s breathing, and your heart stuttering in your chest, because despite barely seeing Leigh in recent weeks, this annoying little crush won’t go away. It’s weird enough that she’s Matt’s wife, and you can't shake the feeling that you’re probably the last person she’d ever look at that way. Not to mention, you're not even sure if she's into women.
Once you’re done cleaning her wound, you carefully wrap a bandage around her knee. Then, you head to the fridge to grab some ice, noticing Leigh's puzzled look when you return.
“What’s that for?” she asks, tilting her head slightly.
“I have a feeling you're going to have a bone bruise after that fall,” you explain, handing her the ice wrapped in a cloth. “This should help with the pain and keep the swelling down.”
She accepts it, a small smile of gratitude on her face as she says, “Thanks.”
“No problem, it's my fault anyway.”
“It was an accident,” Leigh points out.
An accident that, if I'm being honest with myself, I was somewhat hoping for, you reflect with regret.
Leigh looks relieved as she presses the ice against her knee, eyes closing for a moment. With the immediate pain taken care of, you can't help but wonder again where she was headed earlier as you start pulling ingredients out of the fridge to whip up some breakfast.
“Hope you're hungry,” you say, flashing a smile as you fire up the stove.
“I'm fine, really,” she says, but the moment the bacon starts sizzling, she caves. “Actually, I could eat.”
With your back to her, you could smirk all you want at her change of heart. After frying up the bacon and eggs, you pull out some leftover rice and begin chopping garlic.
“What are you making?” Leigh asks suddenly from behind you.
“This is something I picked up on my travels through Southeast Asia,” you share as you cook. “Can't do bacon and eggs without it anymore. But I'll get some toast going for you.”
Leigh's face lights up, almost childlike. “Toast sounds great.”
You and Leigh settle into your meal, you with your plate of garlic rice, bacon, and eggs, and Leigh with her toast done just right alongside her bacon and eggs. She surprises you by complimenting how you cooked the eggs, noticing they're slightly burnt to a crisp around the edges.
“I've never had my eggs quite like this before,” she says.
“Oh, that?” you chuckle. “Learned the technique by accident some time ago. Got distracted and ended up leaving them on the heat a bit too long.”
She laughs too, and soon enough, you're both just talking like old friends, the conversation breezy and effortless. You begin to get a real sense of Leigh's sense of humor and it complements yours in the best way. Leigh loops back to when you mentioned visiting Southeast Asia, and you're more than happy to share your experiences, considering she's never left the country.
“...I’m pretty sure Hawaii counts, right? With the weather and everything, plus it’s really far—”
You’re still cracking up over some joke she made moments ago, and now you’re wondering if you’ll ever stop. 
“No way, Leigh, it doesn’t work like that!” you get out between laughs, holding onto your stomach as you shake with laughter.
The more you talk, the more Leigh hangs on every word, making you feel surprisingly at ease. Sharing stories about places you've been and things you've seen becomes less about bragging and more about just sharing your adventures with someone who’s really listening. It's kind of refreshing, actually, feeling this free to dive into your memories with someone so interested.
That is until the topic eventually shifts to your fitness routine. It's then that Leigh offhandedly mentions, “You'll probably see more progress with the new instructor next week. I heard she’s got a certificate and all.”
You pause, fork paused mid-air. “New instructor? You’re not leading the class next week?”
Leigh simply shakes her head no.
“Then, when are you coming back?”
Leigh takes a breath before saying, “I actually quit.”
Hearing her say she’s left the studio nearly makes you spit out your breakfast. You're halfway through a bite, trying to wrap your head around the news, when suddenly, Leigh checks her phone. Before you can even dive into a million questions about why she quit, she's saying she needs to head home.
Your thoughts are spinning, but you don’t miss the opportunity to offer her a ride.
“You drive?” Leigh looks surprised. 
“Yeah, just got the car this weekend,” you manage to say, still reeling from the shock that Leigh won't be at Beautiful Beast anymore.
“Are you sure? I can just call a cab,” Leigh mutters, probably noticing you're a bit out of it. 
“No, really, I insist,” you say. Making her walk on that knee seems like the last thing you should do. 
Leigh tries to brush it off once more, “Again, an accident.”
You ignore her, grabbing your keys from a dusty fishbowl. “Doesn't mean I won't be kicking myself over it.”
She lets out a sigh, and you can't quite tell if she's resigned or just annoyed. 
-
As you pull up in front of Leigh's house for the first time, you're immediately taken in by its typical three-bedroom layout. The lawn, however, looks like it hasn't seen a mower in quite some time, giving the place a lived-in, somewhat neglected feel. You quickly get out of the car to help Leigh to the front step.
Then, out of nowhere, Leigh curses, patting down her pockets in a panic. “Fuck, I forgot my keys.”
“But someone should be home, right?” you ask.
Leigh rings the doorbell, her expression turning sour. “Yeah, my sister,” she mutters, clearly not thrilled at the prospect.
You're taken aback when, a few seconds later, it's Jules from the studio who opens the door. The sharp look they exchange isn't lost on you; it's clear there's more to the story than just Leigh coming home without her keys. You're gearing up to say goodbye, assuming Leigh will head inside, but instead, she turns to you and says, “Wait right here.”
You do as she says, glancing at the ground, shuffling your feet back and forth.
“Hi, I'm Jules, Leigh's sister. I've seen you around at Beautiful Beast. You're one of Leigh's clients?” Jules smiles at you, politely offering a hand for you to shake. You accept it and introduce yourself in return. Watching her face, you see the moment she puts it all together. 
“Oh, you're the vet who Matt had—I'm sorry. It's just, I wasn't expecting to see you here, helping Leigh home.”
You knew where that first sentence was going, but you're silently thankful Jules decided to pull back and not finish it. You force a smile as you explain how you got here. “She was out for groceries, and I kind of ran into her, leading to a bit of a fall, and now—”
“No, she wasn’t,” Jules cuts in sharply. 
“Sorry?”
“Leigh didn't come home last night,” she says. But before you have a chance to process this new information, Leigh returns, clutching a fifty-dollar bill.
“For the trouble,” she tells you, getting in front of Jules.
You attempt to wave it off. “Hey, you don't have to do that—”
But Leigh isn't taking no for an answer, she presses the bill into your hand. You never see it coming what happens next: she plants a quick peck on your cheek, effectively shutting down any further protests. The spot where her lips brushed against your skin tingles, and it’s all you can think about for a moment. Without waiting for you to react properly, Leigh starts herding Jules back inside the house, throwing over her shoulder a quick, “Thanks again, Y/N. Bye.”
You're left there, holding the bill in one hand, touching your cheek with the other, and staring at the closed door, suddenly very aware of how little you actually know about what's going on in Leigh's life.
-
Suzie shoots you that knowing look again as you head out of the clinic decked out in your active gear.
This time, a blush creeps up on your cheeks, memories of your chat with her about someone “making those sweat sessions worth it” floating back, and you try your best not to let your thoughts drift to Leigh. But then it hits you that she won't be there. Despite your dedication, the sheer excitement of going to the studio isn't quite what it used to be without her as your instructor.
Just as Suzie is about to lock up, the door bursts open. A man rushes in, cradling a small dog in his arms, panic written all over his face. He explains, breathless, that his pet is struggling with labor.
Suzie looks back at you. “I could call Foreman for this,” she says, already reaching for her phone. You stand there for a second, deliberating. Leigh won't be at the class; she's no longer at the Beautiful Beast. 
Then, making up your mind, you hold out a hand to stop Suzie. “No, there’s no need. I've got this.”
-
It feels like you've just walked into one of those old-timey romantic movies, where chivalry isn’t dead and everything turns out way better than you could've ever hoped. In hindsight, it’s better. Because it’s real, and you're right in the middle of it, living a dream you didn't even know you had, with the kind of guy you thought only existed in those movies.
The night air is cool and light, brushing against your skin as the car slows to a stop in front of your apartment. To say the least, it's been an unexpected evening for a first date, and easily one of the best.
As Matt pulls up to your building, he turns to you, a sheepish grin lighting up his face. “Well, here we are,” he says, as if surprised you've arrived so soon. 
You don’t want to say goodbye. Not yet. So you stay put in the passenger seat, doing your best to draw out the last strands of the evening.
“So, Nick was the mastermind behind all this?” you tease, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you two. 
Matt chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, about that... I had no clue he asked for your number until he handed it to me and said, ‘You owe me one’.”
“He’s the perfect wingman, then?”
“I guess you could say that,” Matt agrees, smiling. “I didn't tell him about my interest in you, but Nick knew anyway. He's good at reading people, always has been.”
“I see,” you say, your gaze following the contours of his cheeks, which carry a soft pink blush. It could be from the red wine you both enjoyed at dinner, or, you find yourself hoping, it might be because of you. “Well, he has my thanks. I really thought he was the one interested in me though.”
Matt laughs, a sound that rumbles deep in his chest. “No, it was always me. Since the moment I, uh, ran into you.”
There’s a moment where you both just stare at each other, tacitly acknowledging the serendipity of it all—the accidental meeting that could've ended with a simple apology and nothing more. 
Yet here you are.
“You know, I'm glad it was you,” you profess, feeling a boldness that usually isn't there. 
Matt breaks into a huge grin, but it's really in his eyes where you can see just how happy your remark has made him.
“Would you... maybe want to do this again? Without the running into each other part, I mean,” he says softly.
You laugh, nodding. “I'd like that. Just maybe start with coffee next time. And no spilling.”
“Deal,” he says, his grin infectious.
As you step out of the car, a proposition forms in your mind and you backtrack.
“Would you like to get that coffee now?”
-
Sometimes, you find yourself dreaming about your memories with Matt, particularly the part Leigh interrogated you about. Even though you stuck to the facts, you couldn't shake off the feeling that you were somehow deceiving her.
You wonder if this is why you haven't been able to sleep for days. That, coupled with the fact that you've been handling emergencies yourself instead of calling Foreman as you used to. Suzie has mentioned that since you're taking on all the emergency cases, you might be overcompensating your intern. You don’t tell Suzie though that your work has become a welcome distraction from the realization that your new hobby no longer holds your interest, leaving you with extra hours to fill before returning to the solitude of your apartment.
And without seeing Leigh, there’s only your own head to get your fill of her. You find yourself thinking about her now and then, about what she's been doing, wondering if she's found a new job after leaving her yoga instructor position. She crosses your mind at the most random hours of the day, take right now, for example—staring at this little 8-day-old Shih Tzu puppy in the incubator, its fur somehow has you thinking of Leigh's hair color.
The puppy was part of a litter brought in for a C-section. Tragically, its mother didn't survive, and the owner, possibly overwhelmed by the situation and the impending bills, abandoned them. Out of four puppies, this one, the runt of the litter, was the sole survivor.
“What are we going to do with you, huh?” you muse aloud, the puppy blinking back with innocent eyes. “I can't take you for myself; you'd just end up living here in the clinic with me. And let's be honest, living in a hospital can't be much fun, right? It’s not safe either, exposes you to diseases.”
You sigh, brushing its length with your forefinger. “The other choice is to send you to a shelter. I'm sure someone would fall head over heels for you and adopt you in no time. But,” you sigh, your heart heavy, “I can't guarantee that'll happen quickly, as much as we both might want it to.”
“Finding where you fit in this big world isn't easy, you know? It's like searching for that one place, or that one person, where you could simply just… belong to. But I guess when you finally find it, it feels like winning the lottery, right?”
The puppy makes a noise, automatically bringing a smile to your lips. You wonder if Leigh has ever thought of the same thing—about searching for where she belongs after losing her home and everything familiar when Matt passed away. Perhaps it's even scarier for her. The thought of finding that one thing that's uniquely ours, only to lose it forever. What if we're only given one thing that's truly meant for us?
And once it's gone, what does that leave us with?
-
One sleepless night, after deciding to bring the puppy home for a more personal touch in its care, a thought crosses your mind. What if you could restore some of what was inadvertently taken from Leigh? Maybe bring back a piece of home and purpose that seemed to have slipped through her fingers when her world turned upside down?
It’s true, the puppy's late-night energy partly nudged the thought your way, but deep down, you believe Leigh will be perfect for him. You're sure she'll adore him, and he's bound to love her just as much.
Just as you're settling back to attempt sleep again, your phone starts ringing. You blink at the screen, disbelief washing over you as you see it's Leigh calling—the same woman you've recently realized you have feelings for, and who's been on your mind just moments ago. A part of you wonders if she dialed the wrong number by mistake, but it keeps ringing, compelling you to answer.
“Leigh?” you answer, the name almost a question in itself.
On the other end, you hear her take a deep breath—an ironic move given how the call exudes a vibe of urgency. Then, she speaks, her voice clear yet carrying an undercurrent of something you can't quite place. 
“Y/N Are you available to talk right now?”
“Yeah, I am. What's going on—”
“No, not on the phone. Can you meet me right now?”
You glance down at yourself, noting your sleep shorts and tee. You're so comfortable and cozy in bed, and the puppy had just gotten to sleep. It's tempting to reschedule this some other time. But the thought of Leigh Shaw on the other end of the line, coupled with the worrying nature of her request, tilts the balance. The idea of saying no, only to find out something bad happened to her, is something you know you wouldn’t forgive yourself for.
“Yes, I can meet you,” you say, hurrying your movements and snatching your jacket from the cabinet. “Where?”
-
The date doesn't end with just late-night coffee.
Matt's hand is on your ass, fingers digging in like he owns the place. You’re gripping his tie, pulling him in, again and again. Both of you are still wearing all your clothes, but they're starting to feel like barriers as you both lean into each other, striving to get as close as humanly possible.
The invitation for a nightcap, decaffeinated per his request, had both of you sitting a bit too close on the couch, sharing silly smiles over steaming cups as if you were already lost in love. When the cups were drained, conversation drifted dangerously towards the topic of sex, and that's when you caught yourself staring at Matt's lips. Before he had a chance to react, you were going for it, giving into weeks of pent-up sexual tension.
Matt's lips find their way to your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. Encouraged by the heat of the moment, your fingers start to work on the buttons of Matt's shirt, eager to explore further. 
But then his hands caught yours.
“W-Wait…”
You’re stunned, pulling back almost reflexively, feeling a bit embarrassed as you tried to figure out if you crossed a line.
“Did I... do something wrong?” you ask.
Matt shakes his head and then kisses you on the forehead. He further reassures you by saying, “No, no, it's not you. I just think we might be rushing things a bit. I really like you, and I want us to be sure about this, you know?”
Inside, you’re a mess of wants and needs, but as much as you want him tonight, you realize you want him even more tomorrow, and the day after. You won't rush this, especially if he's not ready. So, you nod, squashing down the throbbing between your legs as you try to concentrate on anything but his half-open shirt. 
“I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable or anything,” he adds, wearing that apologetic look on his face that got you the first time.
In response, you hold Matt's face gently, giving him a quick, soft kiss on the lips. “I really like you too,” you say, despite feeling like those words pale in comparison to what you truly feel for him.
Standing up, you figure he'll say his goodbyes and head out. But instead, Matt looks up at you, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.
“I don't want to rush things,” he repeats. “But, I also don't really want to leave just yet. Would it be okay if I stayed the night?”
The request takes you by surprise, a warm fluttering sensation bubbling up inside you at the thought of him wanting to stay. “Of course, you can stay,” you whisper, a smile tugging at your lips. “But I hope you're okay with the couch.”
Matt laughs and starts pulling off his socks. “There's nowhere else I'd rather be.”
-
Ever since Leigh asked to meet at a gas station on the sketchier side of town, your anxiety hasn't settled. It's a part of town known for trouble, somewhere you'd rather not be, especially in the dead of night. It doesn’t matter, because you’re hopelessly driven by concern and an unspoken affection that won't let you say no to her, no matter the time or place.
You walk up to the convenience store next to the gas station, its fluorescent lights flickering ominously, almost like you've just stepped into the opening scene of a horror movie. It's dead silent, aside from a radio playing inside the store, turned up by the person manning it in a feeble attempt to fill the silence or maybe to keep company. Leigh is inside, visible through the large, pane-glass window, nursing a coffee, alone. The way she's standing, something's off. 
You make your way towards her, hands buried deep in the comfort of your hoodie's pockets. 
“Hey—”
She's like a coiled spring at the sound of your voice. That should’ve been your first clue.
“Why did you lie?” Leigh asks point-blank.
“Leigh, I—What do you mean?”
Leigh's face twists into a grimace that chills you to the bone, a clear sign that tonight's going down one of two paths: either you both find a way through this mess, or she cuts you out for good. But you're lost, genuinely clueless about any lie she's accusing you of. You've been straight with her, at least you think you have.
Her nostrils flare, her eyes burning holes into you as she waits for some sort of confession. But all you can give her is a dumbfounded look.
After a while, Leigh's patience wears thin. “We're not doing this here,” she growls, glaring at the lone store clerk, who seems amused and makes no attempt to hide his interest in eavesdropping on the conversation.
“Leigh, I seriously don't know what you're talking about.”
“Just come with me,” she snaps, ushering you back outside, pulling at your arm with a grip that leaves no room for argument. It's painful, the way her nails dig into your skin, but you suppose you deserve it, whatever it might be. If it helps her release her anger, you're willing to bear it.
Leigh stops, plants her hands on her hips, and just looks at you, like she's waiting for something to click in your head. “Leigh, please—” you start, but you're cut off not by her anger this time, but by the sight of her eyes glistening, fighting back tears.
“You're really going to make me say it?” she manages to choke out, before giving a humorless laugh and running a frustrated hand over her face. Before you can protest again, she thrusts a phone into your hand. It's lit up, a text conversation open and waiting. As you scroll through the messages, your mouth opens in shock. They're from Matt. 
Skimming through the texts, your jaw nearly hits the ground. He's recounting your first date, detailing how the night ended with him at your place. He admits nothing happened, but not for a lack of desire. Instead, he confesses he held back because he's still wrestling with the fact that he's married to Leigh. He mentions wanting to make sure when he jumps in with you, he's not dragging any “chains” along.
He goes on, saying he felt you were on the same page, ready to go further, and implies the only reason things didn't heat up was because he had self-control. Reading this, you can't decide if Matt's just showing off or if he's trying to justify his half-steps to whoever's reading this on the other end.
“Whose phone is this?” you blurt out, the only question that registers in your brain. It turns out to be the wrong thing to say, though, as it’s precisely the spark that ignites Leigh's fury, sending it cascading over the edge.
“Don’t fucking change the subject!”
You press your lips into a thin line, your own frustration simmering. “I didn't lie to you, Leigh.” You wave the phone with Matt’s messages like some kind of proof, arguing, “He even says here nothing happened!”
“It's not just about what did or didn't happen!” she fires back, her eyes blazing. “You wanted it to happen. You were ready to go there with him. You wanted more, and you're still not owning up to it.”
At this point, keeping your emotions under wraps isn't an option anymore. 
“Yes! Of course, I wanted to go there with him,” you explode, your hands coming up in the air in surrender. “I found him attractive, thought he was a great guy, and—single, Leigh! I thought he was single when I was falling for him, okay? Are you happy now?”
Leigh's response is to laugh, but it's not a happy sound. It's bitter, mocking, and it just keeps going. 
You're standing there, breathing hard, your breath visible in the chilly air, when it hits you why she’s so upset: When you were telling her the details of your affair, you made it sound as if what happened—or almost happened—was just a casual fling. And Leigh, she just soaked up that version. In doing so, she somehow managed to forgive Matt, forgive you for your role in it, and even toy with the idea of being friends with you.
You made her believe it didn’t mean anything more than what she meant to him. It ripped off the bandage and thrust a knife back into her wound.
After Leigh's laughter fizzles out, the cold seems to bite a little harder, and you notice her shivering—whether from the cold or the tumult of emotions, you can't tell. She's just in shorts and a thin shirt, unprepared for the temperature drop.
Seeing her like this, vulnerable and cold, you feel the urge to just hug her and make her feel a fraction of how badly you regret deceiving her all along. Because saying “I'm sorry” feels way too small for the giant mess of feelings you're dealing with, especially the ones about her that you didn't even realize were piling up until now.
“Leigh,” you whisper, bargaining for something you don’t know.
She meets your gaze, a bit more peace in her eyes now, but that doesn't stop the tears from finally rolling down her cheeks. She's about to speak when suddenly a car pulls up in front of you, its headlights flashing across your faces, momentarily blinding you both.
A man steps out of the car, and Leigh recognizes him immediately. You do too, although it takes you a second longer to realize. Before either of you could react, he's already launching into a tirade. “Leigh, what the hell? Leaving in the middle of the night, stealing my phone—”
“Not now, Danny.”
You freeze, every fiber of your being locking onto the newcomer—because you're almost certain Leigh misspoke. 
His name is not Danny.
It’s Nick.
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crestapex · 15 hours
Text
This video but with Simon lmao
Aka… ex-boyfriend Ghost showing you how fast he could get in helping you get back into your apartment that you accidentally locked yourself out of. Mostly inspired by it (reader also got a bit of a spicy temper in this one 👹)
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“So… I accidentally locked myself out of my apartment…” You trailed off, holding your phone close to your ear, tapping your foot on the ground.
It was a simple mistake, you swore to it. Not that it would change Simon’s mind on the matter, at all. “You locked yourself out? You left without a key?” He responded, trying to get wind of the situation, aside from a hint of disbelief.
“I didn’t do it on purpose. It was a fucking accident. I forgot my key!” You retorted with a layer of sharpness to your voice.
You were met with a moment of silence from Simon’s end. You couldn’t blame him, though, it had been a hot minute since the two of you last spoke. But he did say to call him if you ever needed anything. You supposed you could consider him a friend, of sorts—regardless if the remnants of your past relationship was still in the air, as one and off as it was.
He sighed, grumbling something to himself before abruptly hanging up on you. It wasn’t exactly a direct answer, but you knew him well enough to know exactly what he was saying. Stay put, I’ll be there soon.
So you ‘did as told’, leaning right by the door of your flat. It was getting dark, and these weren’t exactly the best areas that Britain had to offer. Not that you weren’t confident you couldn’t defend yourself, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. And you were certain your guard was up to its fullest extent, your eyes casting glances here and there around the old corridors. Your ears perking up at the slightest bits of sound, your hand keeping a firm grip on your phone.
But nonetheless, your mind had started to wander. It had been so long since you had last seen Simon in person, months, actually. Almost a year, you estimated. You could say you somewhat missed him, just not the fighting every other day or the way he closed himself off to you. Though to be fair, you were a little pushy or confrontational in some ways, it might’ve done you some good to be a bit more patient with him.
“Love,” A deep, grumble of a voice reverberated just inches from your ear.
You practically jumped out of your skin, your reflexes instinctively kicking in as you forced your body to turn around in a matter of milliseconds. Your hands raised, just inches above your waistline, half-thrown into fists. Your eyes instantly met a wall of a man, the black fabric of his hoodie almost brushing against you.
Oh. Never-mind.
“Simon?” You practically growled out, your breathing hitched as you lifted your head up to meet his judging gaze. You groaned, crossing your arms in discontent. So much for being on high alert, damn soldier. For as big as he was, he was as quiet as a pea-sized mouse, which is something that you unfortunately never fully got used to.
Your ex-boyfriend simply stared at you, his hand hovering just an inch off the small of your back. His breathing was steady, a soft hum rumbling through his chest at the very sight of your face, regardless of the displeasure shown in your expression. “You know how easy it would’ve been for me to snatch you up?” His expression remained firm, though there was a hint of softness in his demeanor, if you squinted hard enough.
You could only roll your eyes. The man just got here, practically scared the absolute shit of you, and now he’s berating you? For what? Well, for not paying attention, of course, for leaving yourself vulnerable, for as many times as he had scolded you on that matter. The absolute nerve of this guy… “Oh, piss off,” You scoffed, your head held high.
Simon stepped out from behind you, moving the hand that basked in the warmth radiating off of your lower back to the cold abyss of his hoodie’s pocket. He paid no mind to your words, only huffing in response. It was a bluff, that he already knew—you wouldn’t have even said a damn thing to him if you didn’t need him here.
“And what do you plan on doing?” You asked him, your gaze turning to scan the lock on your door, and then back at your ex-boyfriend, “I’ve tried everything I could think of.” You shrugged, uncrossing your arms.
For a minute, he didn’t even bother to look at you, his eyes fixated on the cheap door that kept out everyone else but you. “Everything? Picking at the lock?” He questioned, his head turning to look at you, his expression remained unwavering for the most part. “Kicking in the door?”
“Yes, everything,” You responded, a hint of irritation in your voice, “Well, I didn’t kick at it, I don’t want to pay for damages.” You took a deep breath in and out, looking back at the damned door that kept you from getting into your flat, “Listen, if you can’t get at it, I’ll just call a–”
Boom!
The sound traveled through one ear and out the other, your breathing picked up in pace. Your eyes instinctively closed shut at the gust of wind that brushed against you. You stood still for a moment, hesitantly opening your eyes back up after a half second.
Simon’s foot gently re-planted itself back onto the ground, his head held high at the sight of your door creaking back and forth, clinging to the rusted hinges that held it up. He straightened his posture, chest puffing out, studying the small bits of your apartment’s interior that was newly visible. “Easy fix,” he casually said, his eyes moving to study the expression on your face.
You peaked inside, at least relieved you were no longer locked out, “Seriously, Simon?” You asked, looking back up at him.
He didn’t respond, instead gesturing to your apartment, waiting patiently. Are you going side or not? You could only shake your head, humming lowly. And with your head hanging low, you stepped inside, stopping the moment you reached the middle of the living room. You glanced around. Home sweet home, you supposed.
“My door,” You raised your brows and turned around, placing a hand on your hip, the other gesturing to your door that was still swinging back and forth.
The beast of a man stepped up to the doorway of your flat, placing his hands on the creaking wood, inspecting whatever damage he may of done. He rattled the door knob and lifted the door to scan its hinges, humming as he made his judgement. “Hinges are a bit loose, nothing I can’t take care of,” he finally responded, stepping through the doorway. You could swear his gaze softened at the sight of you standing so confidently in front of him.
You stayed silent for but a minute, turning to look at your kitchen, and then back at Simon. So what if he helped you get back into your apartment, and so what if he was so kindly offering to fix your door for you. And so what if he was your ex-boyfriend who you hadn’t spoken to in months before this…
You sighed, scratching the back of your neck before bringing your arms to your sides, “What do you want for dinner?” It was the least you could do in return, you reasoned.
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Disclaimer: I am NOT idolizing this sort of behavior as shown in the video and we all know Simon would never seriously do something like this (unless you were in danger I’d imagine)! Just thought it was a silly writing idea 😂
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anawritez-posts · 3 days
Text
𝐕𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐥 - 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐓𝐰𝐨
Summary: 18+ only. minors dni. Y/N tries to escape her controlling obsessed husband, he leaves a disturbing voicemail while she tries to find a way to leave him. contains dark themes and sexual scenes so minors pls dni.
Word Count: 2k
authors note: apologies, this is really long and unedited. but felt the need to put this out.
masterlist | taglist | part one
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You begin to panic as Tom says, “Now, drop the phone.” His voice goes back to taunt her, “cause I’m right behind you”.
You feel a presence behind you, you turn around and there stands your husband, your captor, the dark lord himself, Tom Riddle.
"Hello, love" Your eyes bulge out, your heartbeat begins to quicken as she begins to panic. As your husband intimidatingly takes a step towards you, "You had me scared there" Your eyes widened for a second, your unemotional husband cared? no, you shake your head refusing to believe this, he doesn't care about you. He just wants to own you, it's been that way since your third year at Hogwarts together. Tom just licks his lips, as he steps closer to you. "but only for a second"
Your heartbeat quickens each step he takes, your heart begins to sink. Why are you feeling this pull, Why out of everything, you want him to grab you? Why do you want nothing more than your husband to embrace you? You stand there, now conflicted listening to your husband's taunts. "But, I knew I'd catch you" Tom places a hand on your cheek, stroking it. You flinch at his touch for a mere second, causing him to release a slight chuckle at your defiance. Why did that chuckle give you goosebumps? Tom smirks at you, his wife, who nevertheless would always come back to him. He offers his hand saying, "Now come with me, I'm going to take you back inside"
You just stand there frozen, scared for what your husband will do. “I'm going to have to ask you a few questions about how you figured out how to get out here” Tom moves around you, taunting you as he begins his questioning.
“How long have you been planning this?”
He strokes his chin as he circles around your frozen state,
“So many questions” 
He brushes up against you, placing a kiss behind your ear. 
“Don’t worry, I’m going to take you back to your favourite place” and that gets you out of your frozen state.
“No, please no-”
“Yes doll, my special little basement”
“Tommy-”
He interrupts, “I’m going to get some nice candles and of course some rope. So you don’t try to do anything stupid again”
You just gulp, as his lips brush against your neck, “to you know, really set the mood” he continues he sneers. Tom goes to entwine his hand with yours but you stand there frozen, refusing your husband and his face hardens.
"Y/N Y/M/N Riddle, you take my hand right now. Before I choose to give you your punishment right here" For a brief time, your eyes flutter, and you want him to say it again. How did the mere mention of your name give you butterflies?
Tom circled around you one more time, until you were eye to eye. He grabs your left arm and begins to admire it, from the dark mark on your forearm to your wedding ring. The evidence of your entrapment to him.
Tom places a tender kiss on the sensitive skin on your forearm.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” he asks, it’s more of a comment than a question.
Though you never intended to become one, what kind of dark lord's bride would you be if you didn't?
It's not so much a title as it is a statement to the world. They refer to you as the queen of the death eaters, and it declares to the world that you are his. 
You’re a prize to be kept, trapped in this very mansion.
“You got me all worked up doll”
He goes to stroke your face, tears still falling down your cheeks, “only my beautiful wife can get me to feel this way”
Your eyes locked onto each other, and you can feel yourself giving in. 
How did this come to be, how’d you become a Riddle, the wife of the Dark Lord, the future mother to the next heir to Slytherin, the possession of Tom Riddle the third.
God, how'd she get so lucky?
Your eyes fall to your husband's figure, finally seeing the remnants of grass and dirt. The normally put together man looks dishevelled and unkempt. You felt guilt sink into your stomach, you caused this?
Why did she try to run again?
"Love?" Your eyes flicker back to your husband’s face.
Tom stands, his chest against yours, his hands now take hold of your face.
"Are you even listening to me?"
You gulps, your husband's intense eyes harden. "I'm becoming really agitated, you need to listen to me" he declares. "I’m sorry" Your cries. Tom just shakes his head giving you a disappointed look, dropping his hands. "Yeah? you're sorry?" He questions.
You begin to panic seeing your husband's stature begin to change.
That's not your husband anymore, that's the Dark Lord.
"Are you sorry that you struck my head?" Tom taunts as he takes a step forward, You then begins to take a step back.
Tom continues, "Are you sorry for taking my phone?"
YOU begin to feel yourself tear up again, anticipating what your husband is about to do.
"Are you sorry for trying to leave me?" Tom and You engage in a sort of dance in which you retract a step with each advance he makes. "Tommy-" You pleads, but before she knows it you're pushed against a tree.
“Take your clothes off” 
Tom leans in, his lips brushing against your cheek, “you know I wasn’t fully satisfied this morning, after you tried to service me”
He places a tender kiss on your left cheek, tasing your salty tears.
“So, I’m going to use you”
You close your eyes, as he kisses your other cheek before saying, “right here”
Another kiss on the tip of your nose, “outside”
Tom pushes your up against the tree, “on the dirty ground which I own”
You can barely hold it together, “Tommy please”
He shakes his head, “strip love”
You cringe, “no please”
“Take your fucking close off love, before I tear them off” and You for the first time glances around your and notices that the normally full backyard is empty. 
You don't know if you should be relieved or panic. Probably the latter. Is that why no one helped you? Your husband sent everyone home.
He smirks, understanding his wife's panic.
“I don’t care If you’re uncomfortable” Tom's hand is back stroking your cheek.
“You had me so worried for you” Tom confesses, your eyebrows crease. Still not used to your husband showing affection towards you.
His hand goes to stroke the crease between your brows trying to soften them, “you had me so uncomfortable all day” You watch toms hand stroke down to your lips, “you had me worried sick that you might have gotten away” 
He pulls in and presses a light kiss onto your lips before whispering, “now strip doll, let me see your whole body again” 
Your heart sinks, and with that you begin to undo your shirt. Correction, Tom's shirt. You swear you’d do anything for this man and that’s the problem.
You lift your short skirt, and pull down your underwear. Feeling all exposed in front of your husband.
Tom goes to admire your figure, “mm fuck, that’s what I love to see”
You can’t help the little smile that appears with his comment.
Tom’s hand goes back to your body feeling it, “your tits, fuck they’re beautiful” 
You gain some confidence as you lean into his hand letting him grab you. “And that ass” he pauses, giving it a slap, making you yelp.
“Fuck doll” he turns you around, your exposed front now rubs against the tree.
“Bend over, let me spank you” 
And you obey.
*Smack
“You’ve been so naughty” You shut your eyes, anticipating your husbands next few moves. Mentally counting each strike.
*Smack
“You definitely deserve this”
*Smack
“Bad girl”
And now why did that do something to you?
You move your hips closer towards him, he just chuckles.
“You like this don’t you doll” 
*smack
“Yeah, my little wife, my fuck doll”
*smack
“You love it when I spank you don’t you love”
*smack
“Is this why you ran away?”
*smack
“Well, tried is a better way to put it”
You bite your lip at that, both knowing he’s right.
*Smack
“You just wanted daddy to punish you?
Yes, you were caught, he knew you so well.
Sure, you had a proper reason to run away, the need for freedom. But you also knew that wasn’t possible. 
Ever since you encountered the enigmatic, menacing dark lord in the rear. You knew there was no way out. He instantly had you in his clutches.
*smack
“Oh fuck!” you groan, 
Your husband just smirks, “I knew you had a daddy kink”
*smack
“That’s why we had so many breeding sessions love”
*smack
“Because my wife, my doll wants nothing more than her daddy, her dark lord, her husband to breed this-” pauses to smack your ass.
*smack
“Tight”
*smack
“Little”
*smack
“Cunt”
You can hear him chuckle behind you, his arms wrap around your waist.
“You’re dripping”
You gulp as he turns you around.
“Look at me” he says, his eyes intense and commanding. 
“My love, you did this to yourself”
You can’t help but nod, as he lifts his hand. The same hand that made your ass red.
A tender stroke to your cheek, wiping the last remnants of tears.
“You promise not to run away from me?”
And you nod.
“Use your words” Tom jeers.
You gulp trying to compose yourself as you finally speak, “yes daddy, I promise”
A satisfied grin appears on your husband's face.
“That's my girl”
You can’t help but beam at his praise.
“Now, get on your hands and knees” 
You hesitate as the ground beneath you is wet, there’s a glint in your husband's eye at your delayed motion.
“Right there, yes in the mud” 
You once again nod, getting into position.
There's sloshing around as your exposed knees get all wet as you kneel on the ground.
“Fuck love, that’s it”
You spread your legs all for him to see. 
Tom bends down to rub your red ass, “such a slut” And smacks it one more time.
You yelp but are interrupted by the sound of his zipper.
You can’t help it but you begin to rub your ass against him, proving your husband right as your knees get deeper into the mud.
He chuckles to himself, “ You’re getting all wet and dirty for me”
And you bow for your dark lord, your husband, your daddy.
Tom taps his cock against your exposed ass. 
You can’t help but moan with anticipation.
“That’s it, tell daddy how much you want him”
He slides it down, teasing your slit.
“Oh fuck, please” you groan.
“Beg for your punishment” 
And you do, whimpers coming out as you begin to wag your ass. Pleading for more.
He slides it in, only to pull out.
It’s his turn to groan, “you’re so wet for me”
And you just nod, wanting more.
He places his cock through your slit and you grind into it.
“I need you to beg for me, beg for my forgiveness”
“Please daddy”
And he chuckles, as you tease his cock.
“I need more than that love”
As you now grab onto the tree holding yourself up as you rub against him.
“Please”
He halts your hips, holding his cock as he wags it up and down your slit making your eyes roll back.
“I won’t fuck you until you apologise”
And you groan as he teases the tip.
“I’m sorry daddy, please forgive-”
You sigh as he thrusts in before pulling out.
Tom chuckles behind you, “I’m sorry, you were saying something”
And you try again, “I’m sorry, my lord. I promise, I won’t ever run away from you again” 
“You promise?”
He gives your ass one more hard smack, almost pushing you into the tree.
“Fuck, yess! I promise you my lord” 
Tom grins, “that’s a good girl”
He finally starts fucking you.
“Now, tell me you’re sorry for running away”
I'm sorry!” you whine,
“If you run away again, I won’t be so nice and fuck you love”
You nod, trying your best holding yourself up against the tree.
“Fuck, the way you’re tightening up against me tells me everything”
Your eyes are closed, feeling immense pleasure.
“You’re mine, you have my name, my mark and soon my heir”
Tom’s pace gets quicker and harder.
He chuckles, pausing his thrusts, his hand going down to rub your back. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re already pregnant, maybe you are”
Tom gives one more firm thrust, “good, because you know. The second you give birth to my child. You both will be trapped with me-” he halts to thrust into you, “forever” 
“If you run away again, I won’t be so nice and fuck you love”
You nod, trying your best holding yourself up against the tree.
“Fuck, the way you’re tightening up against me tells me everything”
Your eyes are closed, feeling immense pleasure.
“You’re mine, you have my name, my mark and soon my heir”
Tom’s pace gets quicker and harder.
He chuckles, pausing his thrusts, his hand going down to rub your back. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re already pregnant, you probably are”
Tom gives one more firm thrust, “which is good, because you know. The second you give birth to my child. You both will be trapped with me-” he halts to thrust into you, “forever”
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taglist. @breeistired @s4ge-gre3ns @laurajmcmanus @feistyfox47 @mrsgaunt-sallow @pawkikii @dasom22 @dreamswanttodie @cyan1decandy @jessicasalas @cloudydaysinmydreams @mandyki @33centaurrii @cprtzi @gothgirlez
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waiting-so-long · 3 days
Text
Sigh
Thinking about chubby, baker reader teaching Soap how to bake while he’s recovering from his head injury. His hands shake, there’s flour everywhere, and he apologizes profusely when he accidentally pours in too much vanilla
But you tell him, “that’s okay, baby. Vanilla, butter, and garlic are ingredients you measure with your heart. Just not all together.”
He lets you put a frilly little apron on him (lets you, like he didn’t do a little twirl and flex his muscles just to make you laugh)
Him standing between your thick thighs as you sit on the counter, sharing bites of cookie dough while you wait for the first batch to be done. Your cheeks hurt from smiling and he’s all but got hearts in his eyes.
It’d be a damn shame if the last batch burnt because he found something sweeter to satisfy his craving
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