#what now? i just have to wait? how long? what am i even hoping for?

[42internetgirl]

boat ride — rafe cameron

summary: rafe making it up to you after arguing over his ex-girlfriend sofia.

warnings/notes: fluff, pogue reader but it's not like a big part of the plot, soft!rafe. genuinely think this might be the first time i’ve written something that isn’t sexual/suggestive for rafe 😭 i need help. but i’m trying to write more fluff for him :) if you have any requests please send them! <33 love u all sm. also thanks to @starkeysprincess, my baby, for giving me the idea of a cute boat date that inspired this idea in my head !!!! <3333

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader

“i just don’t get why you still need her in your phone, and why she still stays texting your phone!” you get defensive while sat in your boyfriend passenger seat. this was the second time you’d gotten in an argument over his ex-girlfriend, sofia. you trusted rafe, if you didn’t you wouldn’t be with him, but the thing was that; you didn’t trust her. her little texts asking rafe ‘how he was’ or ‘if he was busy and wanted to come over', you’d had enough.

“really? you’re going to genuinely get upset over this?”, rafe scoffed and pinched the bridge of his nose. part of him thought it was funny, only because the thought of you thinking that he wanted anyone else was humorous to him. he literally wanted to marry you, and some random ex-girlfriend in his phone was the last thing on his mind.

“yes rafe,” your eyes widened, waiting for him to say something. “yes i am.”

“s’fuckin’ stupid.” his right hand gripped the wheel, pissed off that you were so upset about his ex still being in his phone despite him always shutting her down. the thing that made you so upset about the whole situation was the fact that he let her down in the nicest ways possible. 'sorry, can't make it. maybe another time." sorry? what the fuck was he sorry for? maybe another time? does he want to see her?

“take me home.” you give up. you couldn’t be bothered to argue with him over this right now. your point always went straight over his head.

“are you serious?”

“does it look like i’m joking?” you pretend to scavenge for something in your purse, embarrassed that this was the second time you had to bring up this issue with rafe. did he not love you enough to just listen to you and block her?

rafe didn’t say anything, but instead put his truck in drive and made his way to your house, it was a silent 10 minutes.

your argument with rafe was long gone, you didn’t bring it up and neither did he. the ignorance was bliss for you, you liked to hope that after dropping you off at home and watching you silently tear up in his truck that night, that maybe he went home and blocked sofia.

you knew that wasn’t what went down, but the thought of anything else happening made you sick. so, you figured never bringing it up again would be more beneficial, even though you wanted to so badly.

“wanna go for a boat ride?” rafe let his phone fall to his chest and let out a yawn, both his hands making their way up your thighs that were rested on his legs. you two had tanneyhill all to yourselves, and sitting on the living room couch both occupied in your own tiktok for you pages was how you’d spent your time so far.

“sure,” you reply softly. one thing you loved about dating a rich kook was getting to ‘casually’ take a boat ride.

“cmon.” rafe pulled you out of your slumped position on the couch. "gotta surprise for you."

you smiled at him, wondering what the surprise could be. rafe wasn't always the best with surprises and such, but the bug smile on his made you think that maybe this time it would be different. his eagerness reminded you of a little boy on christmas.

"after you ma'lady," rafe chuckled and put his arm out, signaling for you to make your way out to the dock before him. he followed after you, "close your eyes." he took both hands and wrapped them around your face, covering your eyes.

"rafe!" you giggle. almost losing your balance, your grip onto his big arms, feeling safe when they're wrapped around you.

"hey! no peeking."

"i cant! with your big ass hands in my face!" the huge grin on your voice could be heard just through your voice.

"m'kay, ready?" rafe gets closer to you, his chest pressed up against back, he leaves a kiss on your ear.

"yes!" you couldn't contain your excitement anymore, you needed to know what your boyfriend had planned for you.

rafe dropped his hands from your eyes, but you kept one arm wrapped around his, not wanting to let go of him.

you were speechless. the string lights set up perfectly, complimenting the pink and blue sky, the wicker basket filled with all your favorite snacks, the white blanket laid across the floor of the boat, the pink and red (your favorite colors) colored gift boxes set up neatly, just waiting for you to open them.

no one had ever done anything like this for you before, tears welt up in your eyes, you buried yourself in rafe's chest, leaving a few tear stains on his grey t-shirt.

"i love you baby," rafe gave you a quick peck on the head. your tears and reaction almost getting a reaction out of him. seeing you with the biggest grin on your face had rafe literally doing cartwheels in his head. he swore he'd never love someone as much as he loved you, but there he was, spending all his money and time trying to make you happy.

"all this for me rafey?" you looked up at him with teary eyes. puckering your lips, waiting for him to give you a kiss, he does of course.

"well who else would it be for?"

rafe's ego would never let himself admit that this was all because he felt bad for arguing over his ex-girlfriend, but you knew it was. rafe had a soft spot for you and you loved it.

"i love you rafe."

[edenesth]

[7:16 AM]

"I'm gonna dieeee," you wailed, curling up on the couch. Pouting, you glanced over at Jongho, who was busy preparing breakfast—or at least you thought so—in the kitchen of your shared apartment.

He snorted and shook his head. "You say that every month, yet here you are, alive and well time and time again."

"Would it hurt to console me a little? Try being a woman for a month and see how you like it." With a scoff, you reached for a pillow, ready to throw it at him, but a wave of cramps hit your lower half. Wincing, you clutched the soft material close and waited for the pain to pass.

Damn it, being a woman sucked. If you get pregnant, you suffer for nine months. If you don't, you still suffer every month. Why did you have to be a woman? Life would be so much easier if you were a man. Like that bastard standing there, engrossed in whatever he was doing, neglecting his poor girlfriend who was in so much pain—

"Here you go, babe. I got you your heat pad."

Oh.

Suddenly, you felt guilty for thinking of him that way when all he had been trying to do was ensure your comfort. Your lips quivered as you reached out to him with grabby hands. Damn your period mood swings; they were driving you insane.

His eyes widened in panic at your tears as he rushed over, kneeling beside you and gently pressing the pad onto your stomach, knowing exactly where to hold it by now. One hand on your tummy, the other instinctively cupped your face. "What is it, babe? Are you hungry? I can make you something to eat."

You shook your head, mumbling, "No, that's too much work."

He hummed thoughtfully. "I can cut you some apples, at least?"

"Break them in half, you mean."

He nodded. "Yeah, or that too."

Just as he moved to stand up, presumably to go break some apples, you whined and tugged on his hand. "No, you idiot. I don't need anything else. I just want you to stay here with me… please."

Your boyfriend finally understood the cause of your morning grumpiness. Though your period cramps were always terrible and tended to affect your mood, today you appeared even more restless than usual. He softened as he realised his mistake in fussing over you when all you really wanted was for him to stay by your side.

"Hey, hey, it's okay. I'm here now. I'll stay with you for as long as you need me to," he whispered, settling beside you and pulling your smaller frame close. His heart fluttered when you immediately snuggled up to him as if it were second nature.

"Good, then stay forever," you murmured, leaning up to kiss his jaw. He gave you a comforting squeeze, his heart skipping a beat at your words. Pressing his lips against your head, he nuzzled his face into your hair, wondering why he hadn't done this sooner.

"Maybe I will," he said, savouring the feeling of you in his arms, pressed against him. The soft sensation of your breath on his skin, the warmth radiating from you, the rise and fall of your chest against his side, and the dreamy way you looked up at him—all of it made him think that staying like this forever wouldn't be so bad. "Be careful what you wish for. You'd better not grow tired of me when I do cling to you forever."

You bit your lip. "Never, Choi Jongho. I'll never get tired of you." With that, you sealed the promise with a kiss that seemed to make all the period cramps in the world disappear.

ATEEZ Masterlist

The way I'm tired asf but felt the need to get this out of my system before going to bed. It's that time of the month for me HAHA I'm in pain and honestly, nothing makes me feel better than being delulu🤡

Anyways, hope y'all enjoyed this random little timestamp and as always, let me know your thoughts! <3

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All Rights Reserved © edenesth // DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, PLAGIARISE OR REPURPOSE.

[confused-pyramid]

I'll Be Yours In A Landslide | s7 interlude

pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader

summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.

word count: 2.6k

warnings: SMUT, oral (fem!receiving), p in v, angst

a/n: IMPORTANT UPDATE: Sorry for the wait guys, I've been super busy with graduating soon and other life updates, so I haven't had any time to write:( I really wanted to give some sort of a tie-up for this series at least for the time being, so I wrote a little interlude for y'all. I am hoping to come back at some point, but for now, I'm putting an indefinite hold on this series. I really appreciate all the comments and messages I've gotten from people, and I hope to talk to you all soon:) Title is from State Lines by Novo Amor

series masterlist

"How could you?"

You push past him, shoving your way into his apartment the moment he opens the door. You were fuming your entire drive over, but now that he's standing in front of you, your mind is a battlefield of warring emotions: I hate you, I love you, I missed you.

"You knew the whole time that she was alive," you gasp, already feeling out of breath, "and you kept it from us. From me."

"I'm sorry." It seems to be the only thing he can say these days. He has said it so many times, he's lost count, but it doesn't make this better. He knows he hurt you, even if he didn't have a choice. "Please just sit down and we can talk."

"No," you shoot back, shaking him off as he tries to step closer. "I'm not gonna calm down right now. I've been keeping this in for months, Aaron. I was there for everyone and no one was there for me."

His brow screws together and you know you're hitting exactly the right spots to make him feel worse, but you can't help it.

"I wanted to tell you," he says, his voice almost frantic as you pace back and forth across his living room. "You have no idea how badly I wanted to tell you all of it, but I couldn't."

"You should've tried harder," you yell, knowing how unfair that is even as you're saying it. His face falls and he turns his palms towards you, like he's about to surrender, but that isn't what you want. You want the fight. It's what you've been waiting for for months.

You open your mouth to yell at him again, but then his eyes find yours, and he looks at you in that way he used to...like it's the first time he's seeing you all over again, and suddenly you're walking toward him. His eyes widen as you crash into him, and before he can understand what's happening, your lips are on his.

It takes him way too long to realize what's happening, but his hands move faster than his brain. They latch onto your waist, tugging you closer, pressing your chest to his, as you gasp into his mouth. When his brain finally catches up, he swears he can see fireworks as you grasp onto him, your lips so soft over his. He's been drowning for months, years, wanting you, waiting for you, pushing you away, and now you're here and he can finally breathe.

"I'm sorry," he whispers against your lips, trying to emphasize how grateful he is to have you back, but you just bring your hands up between you and tear off his open button down before chucking it to the ground.

"Shut up," you mutter, a pang of hurt cutting through even as you try to sound angry. "Just kiss me."

He doesn't make you ask twice. His lips come back to yours as he walks you back towards the couch, your knees buckling when they hit the seat.

Aaron sinks down and pulls you on top of him as you grab at every part of him, your fingers tugging at his collar and your teeth brushing over his bottom lip. The kiss is harsh and he gasps as your nails drag over his skin, but he doesn't care. You're here.

He's falling, succumbing to the overwhelming desire rising up within him, but before he can let go, he pulls back momentarily. "You're sure? I don't want you to regre-"

"I want you," you whisper, the last word turning to a sob against your will. "I'm so mad at you, but I love you and I want you, so please don't stop."

His eyes squint with shame and for a moment you almost feel guilty for how harsh you are being, but then the desire returns and he pulls you down on top of him. Your hands come up to tangle in his hair, and the roughness of his beard feels unfamiliar, yet exciting. When his mouth moves down your jaw, the scratch of his beard against your skin ignites a fire within you.

You claw at his back, trying to pull his tee shirt over his head, and he reaches down, helping you wrest it off and onto the floor. The movement sends your hips back over his groin and he lets out a low groan as he tears your button-down open.

When your top falls to the floor as well, you both pause, finally realizing the gravity of what you're doing. Your eyes drag down his chest, over the thick scars lining his abdomen and collarbone, and soon your fingers are following along, tracing a path of fire over the roughest and most beautiful parts of him. 

You gasp as his fingers ghost over the scar on your waist, where your bullet wound used to be, and before the tears in your eyes can fall, your lips are back on his. 

There's more urgency in your movements this time as you try to relish the feeling of his mouth over your pulse, your hips rolling over him. 

"Bedroom," you whisper as heat spreads between your legs, emanating from the grip of his hands on your thighs. "Now."

He doesn't waste a second as he wraps his arms around your body and stands up, lifting you along with him as he makes his way down the hall. His lips don't leave yours even as he pushes the door open with his back, and he only breaks away to toss you onto the bed. You hit the covers with a gasp, and you see his pupils darken with lust as he climbs over you, his pants already tightening. 

You can hardly believe he's back in your life again, and even as anger and hurt cloud your vision, he's here in front of you, and you need him as close as humanly possible.

"I want you too," he says suddenly, his eyes finding yours in a moment of earnestness. "So much...for so long."

Your throat thickens with tears again, and you can't decide whether you want to blink them away or let them fall, but then he quickly tugs your jeans and panties off in one go and every thought leaves your brain. 

He looks animalistic as he peppers kisses up your legs, his mouth warm and wet as he stops just before your core for an extra second to rile you up.

"Aaron," you groan, threading your fingers into his hair and tugging him forward. You won't beg, not right now, but he gets the idea.

He practically grins at your desperation, drawing it out a bit longer by sucking bruises into your thighs, before he finally goes where you are willing him to. Your head falls back with a gasp as he plunges his tongue down, licking a trail up your slit that has you writhing beneath him.

He presses his hands into your thighs, spreading them apart as your hips jut off the bed. His tongue feels like heaven as he works you open along with his fingers, getting you close within a matter of minutes. 

"Aaron, please-" you gasp out, your words cutting off as he hooks his finger up, his movements precise in a way that both surprises and exhilarates you. You're not even sure what you're asking him for, you just need more of him. 

It's like he can hear your thoughts, because his fingers start moving faster, and when your grip on his hair tightens, he lets out a low hum that vibrates up your core.

You are barely aware of what your legs are doing, but when he grabs your ankle and lifts your leg over his shoulder, your head flies back and you're moaning his name so loudly, you're afraid the neighbors will come knocking.

"Yes," you gasp, your fingers pulling at his hair harder you mean to.

He laves over your clit, alternating between sucking and licking, until you come apart under his tongue, your mouth falling open with a loud cry. 

You taste incredible, and he's so hard that his jeans have become uncomfortably tight, but even as you cry out his name, it's not enough. He wants to see you come apart under him.

Gripping your hips, he yanks you down so that you're lying directly beneath his body, eliciting a soft moan from you. Your eyes are wide with bliss as you look up at him, your eyelashes fluttering softly, and he has to grip the sheets beside your head to keep his pants from tightening any further.

His knee presses down on the bed between your thighs as he lifts you up and deftly unclasps your bra, before gently dropping it to the floor. When he returns his gaze back to you, his breath stutters as he takes in the sight before him.

"Beautiful," he whispers, almost as an afterthought. "You're so beautiful." 

He has always known it, but something about seeing you in his bed, like this, feels unbelievable. Like he somehow did everything exactly right. Except you didn't, his brain reminds him. You did everything wrong, and still got this lucky.

Maybe it is luck. But whatever it is that brought him here, he isn't going to waste another second thinking about it.

You help him tug his pants off, and when he chucks his boxers off right after, his cock springs free, hard and ready without you even touching him. Your mouth floods with saliva as his knee presses forward between your legs, and you reach down to take him in your hands, but he pushes you back with a small shake of his head.

He wants to feel you more than anything else in the world right now, but he's already so riled up, he's afraid to let you touch him until he's inside of you. He reaches over to the nightstand and grabs a foil packet to cover himself, before he lowers himself down.

"Ready?" he asks, his voice gruff even to his own ears.

You nod, your legs spreading as he lines himself up, and his breath gets stuck in his throat when he slowly pushes in. Your mouth falls open as he fills you up, taking his time to push forward until he's fully seated inside of you.

He's big enough that you need a few moments to adjust, but once he starts moving, a string of moans falls from your lips. He leans forward to press a kiss to your jaw, then your lips, and when he pulls back, his pupils are so dark you can barely make out the color of his eyes.

"You're perfect," he whispers against your skin as he presses his mouth to your neck, his hips slowly rocking into you. "You're everything."

After growing accustomed to his size, the stretch feels amazing, and you try to respond, but your head just falls back onto the pillow as waves of pleasure roll over you. You remember your dream from while he was gone, the hazy sequence that had you waking up in a heated fervor, and you can't help but think about how much better he is in real life. How you waited for so many years, and even when it hurt like hell, it was all still worth it.

He starts to thrust faster, and you hike your knees up, trying to change the angle to get him even deeper inside of you. When he hits the right spot, you let out a high gasp and your walls involuntarily squeeze around him.

"Fuck," he mutters through gritted teeth as his rhythm falters slightly. "You can't do that." He dips down to press his lips to yours for a sharp kiss. "I'm already close."

"Me too," you cry, realizing it as it flies out of your mouth. "I'm so close."

Your words seem to flip a switch in his brain. You watch as his eyes darken and his rhythm picks back up, like he only has one goal and he won't stop until he gets it. 

You're starting to squeeze around him again, and he fists the comforter next to you as he thrusts faster, his other hand coming down between the two of you. It doesn't take him more than a few seconds to find your clit, and when his thumb flicks over it once, then twice, your breath stutters and your walls close around him so suddenly that he nearly finds his release as well.

You look magical as you fall apart below him, and he keeps moving inside of you, working you through it as he commits the image to memory. You let out a soft sigh as you come down from your high, but it only takes a few more thrusts for him to near the edge.

"Where do you want me?" he asks, his voice a low hum as you run your fingers through his hair, your nails scratching over his scalp.

You gasp quietly. "Come inside me. Please." 

He groans, picking up his pace again, and wraps his arms around you in an effort to bring you even closer. You press your lips to his as he releases, swallowing his gasps while he slowly comes down.

He pulls out slowly, taking care not to hurt you when you're sensitive, before heading into the bathroom. He returns after a minute with a small towel that he uses to carefully clean both of you up with. 

After tossing it away, he climbs back into the bed and tugs you close to him, your back pressing into his front like a pair of puzzle pieces. The day is starting to catch up with you, and you feel tiredness pull at your eyes as his chest rises and falls evenly behind you.

"I'm in love with you," he says suddenly, his voice hurried like he surprised even himself. "I'm sorry if it isn't the right time or if that isn't what you wanted from this, but-"

"Aaron," you cut him off, turning over so that you can reach up and thread your fingers through his hair. "I'm in love with you too. Of course I am."

He lets out a breath, and you can almost hear the relief in his sigh as he wraps an arm around you and tucks you into his side. Unsurprisingly, he's a furnace wrapped up beside you, but you can't bring yourself to move, especially with how much comfort his mere presence brings you.

You lay there for a while, taking this uninterrupted time to re-memorize his face as his breath evens out. You could never forget anything about him, but he's been gone for so long that you expect there are hundreds of new facets to him that you'll get to learn.

His eyes have been closed long enough that you assume he is asleep, but then his breath stutters and you look up at him as he squeezes you closer in his arms.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice sending reverberations through his chest. "I know you know I couldn't tell you everything, but I should have let you in more-"

"I don't want to talk about this right now." Your voice is strong, and he must hear the finality in your tone, because he immediately quiets down. "I know you're sorry...and we'll talk about this more in the morning. But right now, I just want to be here with you. I just got you back."

He's quiet for a moment, but you feel his chin dip down in a nod. "Morning then. Good night."

His arms tighten around you and you snuggle next to him, every part of you interweaving in an effort to get closer than you already are. 

That night, you have the best sleep you've had in years.

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[silken-moonlight]

Older Alpha and Human waitress/ Part 4

A/N: Hello again! I am back with part 4 of this series. I have a lot of fun with developing the plot and characters. I am hoping I am not overdoing it in any way shape of form. Also we have now the Moodboard and the Introduction. Also here you'll find part 3 if you are interested. I love you guys so much -Swan/Moon

Desmonds POV

The next day was similar to the days before. He went to the meetings in the morning and noon, speaking with the other alphas about the pack territory. The problem had been that there was a new pack forming and they had demanded space or else they would have taken themselves said space. This of course could not have been permitted, since that would have ended in a massacre. The human government would have not been amused to cover up a slaughter between two packs and so they had to find a way without blood. While Desmond knew better, some days he wished they would just fight it out. Atlest then there wouldn’t have been so many meetings and fights in the meeting room. His thoughts were captivated by something else anyway…He was worried for his mate, she had looked so distressed. The longing to just take her away from all her worries had never been as strong as in that moment.

The alpha tried to cheer himself up, he would see her again today. Maybe would even make her smile when he brought her the books she had left behind. Of course was he aware that it might have looked a little weird…he just could not help himself. The urge to spoil and pamper his little mate was overwhelming. In his mind he had already planned their first trip to his cabin. He would take her there before they would officially return to the pack village. Thinking about all the things they could do…while Desmond really tried to keep his thoughts pure…it was not as easy. His inner wolf whined and scratched against the walls of his mind. The primal needs he felt were strong, he craved to touch his mates soft skin. To kiss her plump lips, to make her feel safe in his arms. To undress her slowly before- Desmond stopped his thoughts right there. He really didn’t want to get a boner in the middle of a political discussion.

A few hours later, the meetings and work was done for the day. Desmond would do the paperwork later, he had gotten an email from Isaac with some documents he needed him to look at. Desmond’s Pack had a few companies under their name or were part of them, while most things were equally shared, two of the companies were under his name. There also were many contracts he had to look at, work with or renew. 60% of the money earned ran into the Pack fund, all pack members that were working full time also gave away 10% of their salary to the pack fund. With that money were paid a lot of things like the maintenance of the packhouses, insurance costs, school and kindergarten places, student loans, cars that were free to use amongst the Pack…the list went on and on. Desmond himself had brought this concept to the pack after seeing it being absolutely successful in another pack. Since he did that, his pack had not only grown a lot but also was one of the most peaceful. That comes along with being an actual community. Desmond had learned the importance of acceptance, beginning to help werewolves who had not such a good start in their life or a rough time…The Alpha wondered what his mate would think of all of that. With how sweet she seemed, he was sure she would adore his work.

With his mind occupied by that thought, he walked into the restaurant. He sat down in his usual booth…but his beloved was not there. Desmond ordered by her colleague, waiting for her to arrive. But she did not come. His heart sunk…where was she?

Your POV

It had been your day off when your father had a bad episode of pain. His back and hip were hurting so much that he couldn’t get up from his bed. Of course you took two days off and stayed with him day and night. You had called his doctor who had taken the time to do a home visit. He had given your father some medications that eased his pain for a short time. Today was the first day that he felt better. Right now he sat in the garden, Pumpkin and Spice laying at his feet, enjoying the sun. Your mum and you were baking blueberry muffins, the kitchen smelled deliciously like the home baked goods. Tonight you would work again, but would always be available for your parents to call.

Initially you had wanted to become a nurse, but the condition of your parents has kept you occupied. You were unable to stay away from home too long, so you found a job that only would be in the afternoon and evening. That's how you ended up in the Sailor Boy, utterly grateful for your job and understanding boss. It may not have been what you wanted at first, but you were more than grateful to have something. Your mum and you put the muffins in the oven, setting the timer and sitting down. Your phone beeped and you looked at it.

William: Hey love, I am in town again, how you doing?

Y/N: Will, haven’t heard from you in forever! I’m doing fine.

William: Nice to hear that, yeah, I was on a big hike with Jeannie. Want to meet up and catch up?

Y/N: Sure, but I am only free in the mornings and noon, you okay with that?

William: Absolutely, how about tomorrow? In our Café?

Y/N: Sounds like a plan, how about 9 am and eat breakfast together.

William: Deal, see you there.

You were quite excited to see Will again. He was one, actually the only, friend you had left. Most of your friends had stopped texting you when your parents' conditions worsened. Since you refused to go out and party, which wasn’t your thing anyways, they stopped making the effort. You tried to do other things with them like going shopping together, movie nights or hikes together. That wasn’t really what most of your friends wanted. So they and you started to text less and less until you lost contact. The two friends you still had were William and Amanda. Amanda began to use you as her personal therapist, trying everything to get your attention. Manipulating you to be available to her at all times. Will told you she was bad news, you didn't listen. The brutal fallout came eventually. Both of you were left hurt.

So that only left Will. Will had no one but his girlfriend Jeannie and you, he had gone no contact with his family as soon as he moved out. For a short time he had lived with you and your family, when his flat had caught fire and he was left homeless. Will didn’t want to be a bother, but you refused to let him sleep in a dingy hotel. That was two years ago. Will had also been the one to tell you about Werewolves and other magical creatures. You didn’t believe him, that was until he had transformed into a Werewolf in front of you. You had been…a little out of it afterwards. However when he explained everything and you swore secrecy, everything went on as usual. Honestly the knowledge of magical creatures didn’t affect your daily life in the slightest. Shortly after the housefire William met his wonderful girlfriend Jeannie, she was a travel and hiking blogger. The two of them hiked and traveled the world together, often sponsored by some big company. William took the pictures and videos while Jeannie was the model. Jeannie was a lovely person, kind and so confident. You two got along so well that Will often joked if he was even needed when you all met up.

The next hours passed quickly, you thinking about tomorrow, the muffins being ready and eating a late lunch with your parents. You got ready for your work and took the bus into the city.

Half an hour later you arrived at your workplace, quickly going up into the staffrom an changing into your work clothes. After that you went down, doing your usual routine. Not even forty minutes had passed when a certain somebody entered the restaurant. Desmond, you remembered his name, was dressed in a black suit, his hair in a bun and his beard must have been freshly cut and formed. You bet that he smelled like the most expensive perfume.

You smiled at him kindly: “Hi there, how are you doing?” You asked him. Why did he look so relieved? You were missing something, you just didn’t know what. “I am good, wonderful actually.” He stepped with you on the side and a worried look was on his handsome face, his gray eyes were filled with compassion. “Is everything okay? You looked distressed the other day.” He asked, his voice was soft. Actually worried. Your bottom lip trembled, a sudden wave of sadness and exhaustion washing over you. If you thought too hard about it, you would cry. However, you caught yourself. Faking a smile you tried to ease his worry: “Yeah everything is alright, don’t worry.” You looked up at him, he was far taller than you. “May I ask what happened?” You nodded slowly: “Well my parents are chronically ill. My father had a bad episode of pain and needed me.”

The handsome man, Desmond, looked at you again with such compassion. “I know I might overstep, but you left the books behind and I took the freedom to buy them for you.” He placed a black paper bag in your hand. Your eyes went wide and you looked up at him absolutely surprised. “I cannot accept these.” You quickly said. Desmond chuckled:” I insist.” You felt guilty, you must have looked so distressed that he wanted to help you. “Let me pay you back.” You tell him, wanting to get your money. “If you pay me back I will give it as your tip.” Desmond said with a grin. “Has anyone told you before that you are stubborn?” You said with a smile. Desmond chuckled: “Actually yes. And please accept the books. I am so grateful for our conversations. After a day at the office I always look forward to it.” You grinned and answered: “Here I was thinking you’re always returning for our town's famous cocktails.” Both of you laughed at that.

“Thank you, really.” You then said a little more serious again. You blushed slightly, but then quickly remembered what you had told yourself before: He was just kind, not interested in you. You reminded yourself that he was older, a businessman and very surely not interested in a waitress from a medium sized town.

[ooihcnoiwlerh]

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

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

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

CHAPTER SIX: HIS LOVELY NEPHEW

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Na-Baroness?” she asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t even blink.

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

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

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

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

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

He looks at you another moment.

“Your training resumes tomorrow,” he says.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[rweoutofthewoods]

hey mere! so i just go around to reading tennessee baby and i just wanted to express my … disappointment i guess? don’t get me wrong here i love previous work vm usually u do jeggy so so much justice and i usually have such adoration for your characters but this one is really rubbing me the wrong way as james is essentially grooming reg and its promoting teachers and adults in general abusing their power with children. cause regulus might be of age but he’s still a child in comparison to james and just in general like 17-19 are still children they are teenagers and don’t have a fully developed brain and so the way you’re making it seem as if it’s regulus doing is just WRONG. like i don’t even have other word for it. and yes i get the whole don’t like it don’t read it but… how do you feel comfortable promoting stuff like this in the first place to your audience who previously hasn’t gotten the impression that you’d promote such violence in your fics yk?

anyways, i’m only sending this in hopes that you may have something say about it i guess cause as of right now i’m not sure if i’d even feel comfortable reading anything else you’d write in the future which is just heartbreaking to me as i’ve been following along with you for so long now!

If you have read my writing before then I hope you know that I don’t write anything as black and white. I write things that are purposefully wrong and the characters are supposed to be in the wrong.

This is something I run into a lot that is very frustrating to me because I can’t force anyone to understand my work. But I understand my work.

That is to say I’m not writing Tennessee Baby with the intention of saying any of this is good or alright. I’m not writing it to act like my characters are in the right. I don’t write things to be moral lessons on how a person should act because why should I? I plan my writing, I exist for it, I have thought out every single little detail and exactly what I’m portraying. which as the fic goes on, I think everyone will find is the exact opposite of “promoting violence” or any of this behavior to my audience.

So two things.

1. The fic is incomplete and very early in the story. Their relationship is just beginning and we’ve barely gone anywhere. It’s a bit premature to judge me morally on a story I’ve barely begun and I WILL touch on all the things and I’m not painting my characters as their actions being okay. But it takes time to write a story. You know who thinks regulus in control and at fault for their sexual relationship? REGULUS. In his pov only… maybe think about that and think about all the ways I’ve showed how he IS a kid despite being a legal adult. I know exactly what I’m writing, trust me. I think you don’t, and I can’t blame you bc the fic is so early in the plot, but it would be nice for people to trust me. Bc comments similar to your concerns pop up regarding a lot of my WIPs and I always know exactly what I’m doing and what my intentions are. So it’s a tad frustrating often feeling the need to defend my writing choices when ik if we just wait and read on everything will become clear.

2. I did warn multiple times exactly what the fic would contain and that it is immoral and it’s MEANT to be. None of this is supposed to be acceptable behavior and I have never acted as if it is.

So really I guess I’m a little disappointed in your response. If it’s not your cup of tea that’s fine! Not judging! It isn’t a nice happy unproblematic fic. If u went happy moral fluff there’s a million other fics for you. But this is the writer I am. I always HAVE been. I’ve written multiple cheating fics, I’ve written age gap, I’ve written characters killing people. Does that mean I believe in infidelity, murder, and student teacher relationships? no 😭that’s not how it works, and the things I write don’t morally define me at all. In fact most of my writing teaches a lesson. if you can’t understand that and don’t want to read my work anymore that’s fine, but I hope you consider why people might choose to purposefully write things that are wrong.

[back2bluesidex]

From Within - JJK [Masterpost/Announcement]

Pairing: Widowed!Jungkook X Fem!Reader

Theme: Angst, pining, eventual fluff, eventual smut, arrange marriage au, bffs to strangers to lovers au. Drabble series.

Summary: When you fell in love with Jungkook, you wished for your life to turn out as one of those clichéd fairytales, where two best friends fall for each other and live happily ever after. But were you lucky enough? Probably not because you had to watch the man taking vows, kissing the love of his life and promising forever right before your eyes. Unfortunately enough, now you are having to witness him breaking down bit by bit standing at his wife's funeral.

Warnings: angst, minor character death, pining, angst, unrequited love, eventual smut. NSFW!!

Patreon Membership Exclusive Drabble Series.

A/N: I will be updating once a week. The length of each chapter will be 1k to 1.5K since it's a drabble series.

Chapter Index:-

Part one: First and second heartbreak [Posted]

Part two: The bad news

Part three: An unexpected proposal

Part four: ?

Part five: ?

Part six: ?

Part seven: ?

Preview

Dear Jungkook, Honestly, I don’t know what to write or even how to write to you.  I don’t know how I will present this card to you, or how you will even take it. Or what will you think after reading it.  But what I know is that I love you. I have loved you for as long as I can remember. I have loved you everytime you annoyed me, teased me, protected me, held my hands, patted my head, hugged me… I have loved you from the deepest corner of my heart. And I think it’s the right time to let you know this one secret that I hid from you.  Hope you aren’t angry.  But most importantly, I hope you don’t feel pressured to say yes just because I am your bestie. I know you probably don’t feel the same and it’s okay.  But if there is even the tiniest consideration in your heart for me, not as a friend but as a partner, then please come to the park near our elementary school.  I will be waiting for an hour from the time you receive this letter.  – Xoxo Y/N. 

It was graduation day when you decided to deliver the card to your best friend. However, after the ceremony Jungkook basically vanished. 

You looked for him everywhere you could, only to find him in the annex building. 

His face was flushed, as if he was embarrassed. He was looking in every possible direction, as if to avoid the person standing right in front of him. 

Before him stood Jung Mido, a well-known figure in your university since she was the student body president. 

“Mido-ya I- uh I really like you, will you-” he got cut mid-confession as Mido rose on her feet and placed a kiss on his lips. 

Jungkook looked starstruck and so in love.

[deadgirldreaming]

This impressively in character letter from Alastor to Vox just after they fell out but before Alastor left to grab a carton of milk for 7 years was written by @official-alastor.

Well worth the money!

🔹️🔷️🔹️🔷️🔹️🔷️🔹️

My dear Vox,

Forgive me for resorting to a more “dated” means of communication as you put it, but I’d prefer to say this from a distance. Why, you ask? Well, the truth of the matter is that I simply cannot stand your presence any longer. Your voice is grating, and I wanted to get this done as quickly and efficiently as I possibly could without having to resort to your obnoxiousness in person.

You may have guessed from my introductory paragraph what the contents of this letter will be, but let me spell it out for you. You irritate me. Your very presence irritates me. And, quite frankly, my patience with you has reached its limit. I’m done, Vox. I can’t take it anymore. Just like you can’t take no for an answer.

Your incessant pestering and clinginess has made it impossible for me to be around you. Constantly pushing your affections on me and attempting to pressure me into returning them is tactless and disrespectful. I am many things and a gentleman is certainly one of them. The same, however, cannot be said for you. As the youth of today are so fond of saying, no means no, Vox.

I do not want you. I have never wanted you. I will never want you. And you have only yourself to blame for what’s happening now. I have told you time and time again that I am completely uninterested in romance along with the more physical aspects of it. On enough occasions that even Valentino remembers and understands. Valentino! But not you. No, Vox, not you at all.

You asked me if I wanted to join you. Clearly, my answer is no. The sad part is that at one point, I would have said yes, Vox. But years of your grating behavior and unwanted advances have successfully managed to change my mind. You just don’t know how to handle rejection, and it’s one of your biggest flaws (of which you have many). I wish I could say that I’m sorry for this, but I’d be lying if I did.

In the end, Vox, I’m not sorry at all. I’m relieved. Relieved that I’ll finally be free of you. Thrilled that I’m finally putting you in your place. I waited far too long to do this. It’s certainly well overdue. It feels wonderful to finally do what I’ve wanted to do for ages now. Does it hurt your feelings? Does it break your heart? Good. Suffer. As I have had to suffer enduring your presence in my afterlife for the last several decades.

Harsh, you say? That would be the point. I can think of no other way to make certain that you fully grasp what it is that I’m trying to convey here. You went too far with me, Vox. And now you reap the rewards of your efforts. Losing me entirely. The fault lies solely with yourself, as I stated before. Read that sentence again and remember it well. You alone have driven me to this. You alone have pushed and pushed until you pushed me too far. Now I’m done, and you’re going to have to learn how to live without me if you even can.

The final straw was our fight. You know the one to which I refer. I almost beat you. Almost had you right where I wanted you. You may have gotten the upper hand in that encounter, but as they say, you won the battle but have lost the war. Your biggest mistake was thinking that you could ever own me. I’ve never been yours to possess and never will be. Ever. In the end, I win, Vox. It’s as simple as that. Failure and defeat have never been an option for me as you well know. Though I know you’re quite familiar with both as you should be.

I’ll finish this with one last statement that I hope you’ll remember along with the other contents of this letter: thank you for wasting my time. Let’s never do it again.

Alastor

🔹️🔷️🔹️🔷️🔹️🔷️🔹️

Did you enjoy reading this letter from Alastor to Vox? You can get your own letter from Alastor too!

@official-alastor is currently providing a service where you can buy letters or messages from Alastor to you or any character in the Hellverse.

I personally am considering buying one for either Lucifer or Adam next. Maybe a letter to Sir Pentious, it could be quite funny!

🌟 Here are the prices and payment details! 🌟

🔷️ One character letter up to 500 words - $5

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🔹️ Letters emailed directly to the buyer once complete.

🔹️ Cash App or PayPal accepted.

Any questions just ask @official-alastor !

[fluttervee]

There once was a ship in limbo, of elven and draconic combine, but an anon so, heart full of woe, begs for headcanons that you can find. (inkblade crumbs? please?)

well, darling nonny, i have no idea why you have come to me for your crumbs but i will do what i can for you on this last day before we are well and truly jossed.

under a cut because i am completely deranged, this got so long lmao

sorry but I have to talk about this. dragonboy's death was hilarious actually. he was sooo confused about tbk killing his grandma. Were those dragons conjured/summoned/whatever and unrelated to him?? Or did he just not think about the implications of the bad kids showing up to the final confrontation?? What An Idiot. ok now crumb time i swear

I keep coming back to the fact that oisín didn't start missing at beer pong until after he spoke to adaine. obviously this takes on a WILDLY different cast post ep 17, but it's still so interesting to me. like, was he mad about her not remembering him?? that she didn't take his (definitely cursed) diamonds?? WHAT MADE YOU PLANT THE BOOBYTRAP BOY??

obsessed with the concept of oisín and ivy as cringefail loser meangirls. bitchy as hell, down in the first round of combat. icon behavior. they and aelwyn will get on like a house on fire

i like to think that oisín getting buff was part of some ragestar devil's bargain and not just a growth spurt. it would be soo funny if he sold his soul to Get Hot but actually adaine wouldn't care anyway. She just didn't notice you because you didn't talk to her, LOSER.

he would have to a) devour humble pie and b) Get Good, but I Still Believe In Canon Inkblade 🛸

i just love the idea of a bitchy wizard couple. Me and my girlfriend saw you from across the bar and we hate your vibe. we think your incantations suck.

I hope he saw her One Punch that dragon. I hope he was Scared and Horny

wait... sub oisín? Brat Oisín??? Ohhhh, now we're cooking

i like to think he was so caught up in his (her) Sick Burn that he didn't even CONSIDER how throwing that oracle line back at her would make her feel. i want him to lose his mind when he realizes. i want to him to beg her for forgiveness. grovel, even.

speaking of, have we decided how he knew that line to begin with?? someone floated the idea of adaine repeating it ad nauseum and i think that's so funny. Catty dragonborn hears elf girl make a sick burn one time, falls in love, decides to make it everyone else's problem

REMEMBER: if we don't have canon we'll always have fanfic. i will dip my toe into d20 fic for this with you, anon. hold my hand as we jump into the abyss

[hypnowave]

mmm. dysphoric

[strwbrymlkshake]

Why can't I be satisfied with everything? It needs to be perfect to me and I can't accept anything otherwise :(

[skitskatdacat63]

I hate when apps temporarily block your acct bcs "suspicious activity", yeah yeah I understand it's for security measures BUT PLEASE IM JUST BAD AT REMEMBERING PASSWORDS, LET ME LIVE 😭😭

[thefirstknife]

I feel like the descriptions of the other supers is willfully oversimplified given we're talking about the fantasy end of things. Hunters have a bow that lays traps, that's pretty Hunter to me. The other part of the Hunter identity has always been Cowboy, so a six shooter, especially one with a fan fire animation, absolutely fulfills that. Warlocks, i'll give on because their identity is more elaborate in ways that can't totally be shown in game, however I'd still argue they get at least close enough for the Wizard part, summoning raw energy rather than filtering it through tools like the other two classes do. Titans already have something that, even if not Literally laying out plans ahead of time, makes you feel like that "front line tactician" in the form of Bannershield and Ward of Dawn. Sunbreaker is still a roaming super and yet feels more interesting than punch-supers if only for the simple fact that you have a weapon that elevates the brutalism from Hulk to Warrior, especially in its Burning Maul alternate. It's really less the effect in gameplay, and more the presentation, and even then I think a different presentation can in turn inspire more fun gameplay.

True, I definitely oversimplified, but I also feel like people are oversimplifying Titan supers a lot. Your breakdown is much better and shows that there's plenty of different fantasies baked into the class.

I'm pretty sure Fists is still here only because it's a remnant of the ancient days of Destiny and just kinda stayed here with barely any updates on how it works. And that is the only mindless punch super that has nothing else going for it. All other Titan supers are different. You'd think with how people are treating it, it's as if 90% Titan supers are just different colour punches.

I think the simplification is coming just from the visual idea of having an element on your fists and using a button to make punching motions, but that ignores everything else that Behemoth and Berserker are doing. Also I guess the major issue is because Behemoth and Berserker released so close together with no alternatives that we're used to with Light subclasses. I feel like viewing it in that superficial way and ignoring the effects in gameplay for purely presentation is counterproductive. If we do that, then my oversimplification of other classes would also stand. But when you think about it, it really doesn't.

Weapon-based super is also not a Titan fantasy primarily; it's a Hunter one. All Hunter supers are based on pulling weapons out of the element (gun, bow, staff, knives, kamas and now rope dart). Titan has a hammer and maybe shield sometimes in some circumstances. Titan is definitely half tool/half energy class with a high emphasis on melee combat and a lot of abilities that give benefits for melee. Naturally, supers will follow that and we see it with strand gameplay with how seemlessly it blends the melee charges into a super for maximum movement and battlefield control.

But as I said, I would definitely love to see more. There are a lot of activities where I am really not encouraged to go in with a close range build, which I think is more of an issue with the activity and enemy design than anything else. Because I genuinely enjoy the close range builds on Titan and the gameplay loop of it. Being able to feel like I'm leading the charge and to be indestructible in combat is the reason I hop on my Titan. Unfortunately, with a lot of bosses floating in the air out of reach, various buffs and debuffs in raids which make it impossible to move, stomp mechanics, map sizes and other stuff, it can be really tough to take that type of a build into anything but strikes.

I really hope that the mobility and damage resistance + crowd control on strand will mitigate some of these issues. I feel like a lot of the disappointment is built on the idea that close range builds are simply not "meta" and the idea that they will be useless. Titan mains don't want to be forced to switch off the newest toy because it's not good in a GM or raid while the other two are enjoying theirs. That's one thing I am in full agreement with everyone who is upset, because we know how the game plays and thinking that you won't be able to use strand outside of messing around in Dares of Eternity can be a bummer before the thing is even out. So hopefully the utility side of strand will be helpful.

[pepprs]

covid is such an evil evil disease and an evil evil thing to live through lol

[tokyoteddywolf]

It sucks so much once you realize how entwined someone is in your life, then it just sucks more when you have to scrub away the traces it existed. That it was there, and it was good, until it wasn't anymore.

(Ignore my angry venting it's 3am I'm cranky and want chocolate.)

[bloggirl8842]

Makes me so so sad that my first relationship was bad for me even though nothing explicitly bad happened. I see all these things about first loves or firsts in general and how fun it is but all I felt was obsessive, scared, confused, very rarely good. I only had fun when I was drunk (and he always made sure I was safe when I was drunk ofc) but the rest of it-- and even that-- was so tense and fraught, like trying to make unoiled gears turn