#this is doing better than most of my last fics

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 54

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: I am back to work tmrw.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You choose a simple dress. You like the shade of peach even as Loki eyes you archly. It might not be the choice that offends him but the state of yourself. Your nose is still healing, bandaged but not as heavily, and you have much left to recover. His own injuries remain tinged on his pale skin.

You shimmy the dress on and turn your back to him as he drones cynically. His fingers creep up along your bottom to meet the zipper and he tugs it up slowly. He’s reluctant. 

“What is it? You don’t like the dress?” You face him.

“I’d rather prefer you naked,” he purrs with a wink, “but I am not overly fond of the colour, no.” 

“Oh, but... you bought it?” 

“Yes, my sister did have it included in the purchase but... it is rather bright.” 

“I like it,” you run your hands over your stomach and hips, “it fits nicely but if you want me to change...” 

“No, darling, do what you wish,” he crosses his arms, “I must learn to let you do so.” 

You narrow your eyes. His malleability does not come without resentment. You shrug. You don’t have all day to be sussing out his preference. 

“What is it you and my mother have planned?” He asks. 

“I’m not certain,” you say as you search for your phone. The one he gave you. 

“No? Hm, darling, what about a necklace?” He goes to the jewellery box and plucks out a golden chain with a peridot emblem.  

“I guess,” you dig around in your work bag, most of your luggage still unpacked. 

“You guess? It is a pretty necklace. What about amethyst?” 

“Loki,” you fish out your phone but not the one you meant to. Your old flip.  

You put it down on the nightstand stiffly and return to your search. It feels so long ago that you were that person. That sad girl living with your father and flitting through a meandering existence. You won’t say you’ve moved up very much, still at the whim of a man, but you feel distant from that person. 

Perhaps Walpurgisnacht was more a rebirth than you could know. 

“Pet...” Loki comes closer as you retrieve your work phone. It’s dead.  

“I need to charge it,” you show him the device. 

“You should toss the old one. Doubt it even works.” 

“I know, I will. I have to back it up,” you say evasively. There’s not much on it but it’s the only connection you still have to your previous life. You’re not ready to slice through that last strand. 

“Mm, right then, well, another to do for the list,” he steps nearer and tickles your waist, “suppose you delay your little outing with my mother and I take you to lunch--” 

“She’s a guest, and your mother,” you rebuke. “Loki, I’m only doing what I need to do. Isn’t that what you want?” 

He sighs, “yes, but... it is still my house. I would like more than my leave. I should say when you need go pick out flowers or tablecloths or whatnot.” 

“Proposals typically lead to all that,” you say, “at least from what I know.” 

“What you know?” He muses. 

“Yeah, I’ve seen a few Kate Hudson movies,” you quip and give a goofy smile but quickly repress it. “Sorry, that wasn’t... funny.” 

His cheeks dimple and his nostrils flair, his lips slightly curved, “is that... humour? From you?” 

“Well, I... yeah, why not?” 

“Hm, it isn’t a slight but you are not one for laughter.” 

“Or maybe you’ve never made me laugh,” you blurt out and quickly snap your mouth shut. 

His brows drop and his smile too. You stare at him. Oops. You are getting to comfortable. Even if you are to be his wife, you aren’t his equal. You don’t know that you could ever be. 

He chuckles, “darling, how very sharp.” He reaches to frame your chin and turns you to him completely, “I should try harder then, to hear your sweet laughs.” 

You smile, a flutter in your chest, “that’s sweet.” 

“I am sweet,” he says, offended. “What do you mean?” 

You just stare at him. Is he kidding? 

“Don’t,” he warns with a frown. “Very well, go, have fun. Should I need anything, I will be certain to let mother know since you will be without tether...” he keeps his hand on you, squeezing, “you will be safe with her, I know.” 

“Loki,” you murmur, “he’s not coming back. He wouldn’t.” 

He stares at you solemnly, “no, he shouldn’t.” 

It seems as if he doubts his own words. For a moment, you do too. He knows his brother much better. Yet, how can Thor return when all have turned their backs on him? 

“There is no hurry, mother can wait...” 

“Loki, she’s only visiting,” you remind him, “the sooner it’s done, the sooner they go, right?” 

“Mm, you are clever,” he looks past you with apprehension, “suppose so. And I should speak with father about some things...” he leans in and kisses your forehead, withdrawing absently as he taps his fingertips together, “weddings and such...” 

You give him a look but he’s too distracted to notice. This whole affair is his idea and yet he is uncertain. You watch him placidly. 

“We don’t have to... marry--” 

“No, no,” he returns his attention to you, “of course we must. We will—how could you—oh, I know it is all very new to you, pet, but trust in me. It isn’t my first rodeo. Regrettably.” 

You feel a pang at the allusion to his previous marriage. You remember Sif with her sleek figure and her perfect smile and her sparkling eyes. You are second in all ways to her. 

“I should go,” you insist with a sniff. 

“Mm, yes, you should,” he grabs your shoulders and lays another kiss, this time on your lips. “I have told mother very strictly not to dawdle so you shouldn’t either.” 

“We’ll be fine,” you assure him. 

“When did you get so confident,” he teases as he retracts from you. 

You offer a sheepish smile. Not confident, but hopeful. A change nonetheless. 

✨

Frigga insists on lunch before you do anything. You’re struck with deja vu as she returns to that same place you went to with her sons. That day feels like eons ago but it’s been just over a month. 

The change feels all the more sudden after a lifetime of stagnancy. With your dad, every day blurred together, the constancy was as dull as it was oppressive. Yet, you mourn it all the same. The spontaneity and turbulence of your new existence proves just as paralysing at times. 

You may have gone from maid to fiancee, but it doesn’t dissolve your expected deference. You are marrying into the Odinsons, they have no need to ingratiate themselves to you. Even as the reminder of her elder son troubles you, you will not mention your worries aloud to the matriarch. 

Frigga orders a sparkling water with fruit, you ask for the same. The waitress is not subtle as she eyes your bandaged nose. Just another reason for you to feel out of place. It's tender but feels much better.

You peer up at the sky as you sit in the open patio and the scent of the curated flowers around the space wafts in the air. Your dress rustles and tickles your leg, causing you to flinch. Another flash of before. That day you ate with Thor at your side, his hand under the table... 

You shudder and blow away the memory. You reach for your water and sip as you look over the entrees. Your appetite is erratic. One second you’re ravenous, the next, nauseous. The tuna sounds good but sickening at once. You’ll get a salad. 

“We will have to plan an engagement party first. Perhaps a local venue for that,” she looks at her phone and turns it on its screen as you hear it buzzing. 

“Or the house? I thought... the gazebo...” 

“Mm, yes, I recall, what was the name of that contractor you hired? I wouldn’t mind a similar build back at our house. Oh, and perhaps if you did want to do the wedding at home as well, a wedding arch might be a thought. I’m certain a carpenter might be up to that task,” she continues, ignoring how her phone rattles her glass. “So, we’ll skip over venues then. But invitations, perhaps? Oo, do you have a dress in mind? A brunch or something in the evening?” 

You can hardly keep up with her questions. At least she offers distraction from the shadow looming over your shoulder. Both of them. If it isn’t one son, it’s the other. 

The waitress returns and you order. Frigga eyes you as she puts in for a monte cristo with the soup du jour. You try to smile. You’re tired. 

“Are you okay, dear? You’ve not been eating very much.” 

“Oh, haven’t I?” You squirm evasively. “I’m... fine, I guess I just have a lot on my mind.” 

“Oh, darling, forgive me if I am overloading you,” she fans herself with her hand, “I apologise. I’ve a bad habit of getting head over feet about these things. I have so many ideas all at once but if I sit still, I feel I might burst.” 

Her words call you back to Loki pacing and circling at the hotel, then at home, he manic muttering. 

“It’s alright. I don’t think of any of it. I don’t know where to begin,” you assure her. 

“Ah, well, yes, but I’ve had a wedding and my son’s had a wedding already,” she chuckles, “so I do have a bit more experience. You shouldn’t worry terribly if you have questions. I am simply here to guide you.” 

“I know--” 

Her phone shakes again and she sighs.  

“Pardon,” she tilts the phone up and you see the incoming call; Loki. She quickly turns off the ringer. “My, he is a pest. It cannot be that important--” 

“I don’t have my phone,” you say, “maybe he needs something.” 

“My son can wait. He is so selfish. Especially about you. Surely, he trusts his own mother,” she scoffs, “anyhow, I think a luncheon might be pleasant enough. Perhaps with a theme. Summer is here and the flowers will be lovely this time of season.” 

“Excuse me, miss,” the waitress comes up to the table, a cordless phone in her hand, “there’s a gentleman on the phone asking for you.” 

You frown at Frigga then glance up, realising the woman is speaking to you. You blink and take the phone from her. You put it to your ear, staring at Frigga. 

“Hello?” 

“Pet,” Loki bursts eagerly, “oh, I knew you’d be there. Yes, I only wanted to check in, hear your voice, but I couldn’t get through to mother.” 

“Oh, uh, yeah, sorry, we were just ordering--” 

‘Give me the phone’ Frigga mouths and gestures. 

“I...” you begin and her green eyes flare. You hand over the phone. 

“Loki, this is not your time. You can wait. We are busy. You have a lovely day and we will be home in a few hours,” she says tritely, “certainly, you might find something to keep yourself busy.” 

She doesn’t wait for his response as she hits the end button and hands the phone back to the server, thanking her with a smile. The brunette flits away and you tap your fingers on the table top. Frigga plays with a wave and pushes it behind her ear, “darling, don’t even worry about my son. You just focus on yourself.” 

“Thank you, I just...” 

“You just don’t worry,” she repeats, “if my son has issue with us doing exactly as we told him we would, then he may take it up with me. Uh, he always was a needy little boy.” 

You almost laugh. You might agree with part of her sentiment but you could never imagine Loki as a little boy. In your mind, he just seems as if he’s always been grown. Not like you.  

You’ve always felt clueless and inadequate. As if you never moved past childhood, that you got caught behind some wall and watched the adults from afar. Yet, now that you’re on the other side, you still feel a barrier. Like them, but not the same. 

Not like the Odinsons especially. A family. You don’t have any of that. The more you think of the wedding, the more you see empty seats. No bridesmaids, not father-daughter dance, no one on your side. 

“Dear, have I upset you?” Frigga cuts the silence and you catch yourself staring at the table. 

You shake your head and sit up, “no, sorry, just thinking...” you scramble for a lie. You hate that you do that so often now, “what about a tea party?” 

“A tea party? Marvelous, I love it,” she trills, “oh, yes, we will have to find some fine porcelain for the event.” 

“Loki has lots--” 

“Yes, but this is special, dear. You’ll need a special set so you can always remember the party. Oh, and teas. There is a tea shop nearby. They sell loose leaf. We can have a whole array. Ooh, and biscuits, pastries...” she begins to list off. You let her, thankful to forget everything else for the minutest of details. Tea is easy. 

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #maid au #dirty work #mcu #marvel #avengers #thor #series

[hotcheetohatredwastaken]

Celebration: 88,978 Words in One Day!

Just yesterday, a few other LU writers and I, Hot Cheeto Hatred, hosted our first ever monthly (hopefully) Write-a-thon! This event ran on June 4 from 12 am EST to 12 am EST, with one goal in mind---write as many productive words within that day as humanly possible. Words included in the final marathon count ranged from storyboarding, fic writing, editing, answering comments, journalling and homework---basically, any words that furthered yourself, the writing community at large, or your stories. We utilized either the Discord Sprint bot or self-reporting to collect the numbers at the end. Everyone involved gave it their all, with most of them being present for most if not all of the run time as they were able, and I'm so proud of their dedication towards their craft. Anyways, here's the final breakdown of the numbers below, as well as the awards and titles earned by each participant, as decided by the discord server (and myself at random).

Now onto the awards:

I am pleased to report that @not-freyja (Freyja above) won the "Writer of All Time" Award, pulling ahead with 20,565 of our total words. What an accomplishment! Freyja participated from dawn to well, dawn, and they absolutely deserve all praise and awe.

I'm giving myself, @hotcheetohatred (Cheeto), the award "Writer of Some Time," as I fell behind our lovely Freyja by a mere few hundred words fifteen minutes before the clock struck midnight. Next time, Freyja, next time...

The "Actually A Writer" award goes to @marcusdoodlesalot (Marcus), who, despite the name, DOES actually write, not just draw! Who would have thought. Not Freyja, that's for sure.

The "Early Bird" award goes to @lerikwrites (Lerik), who solely sprinted in the wee hours of the morning (my time, at least). Terrible. Good job.

"Star Commentor" goes to @elle-rosewater (Eliot), because I stole most of her words for the count from my own comment section in the BDOR Prologues. We love you, Eliot :3 Can't wait to see you next month.

"Cheerleader" goes to @la-sera, who gave us much encouragement throughout the day. I stole your 19 words from you saying you were excited to read Estelian's work. Hope that's okay, because I really wanted to include you---you provided a lot, even if you didn't write with us this time <3.

@whumpitywhumpitywhumpity (Dowsemaxxer) earns "Spirit-ed Storyboarder" for all of his lovely, informative talk on Spirit and just what makes him so great as a rather underappreciated LU boy.

Two awards next! "Chief Editor" and "Most Student" both go to @unexpectedstormy (Stormy) for faer work on getting. stuff. done. Fae did a steady amount of work, so proud.

"Editor (of Word Count) in Chief" goes to @tashacee (Tash), who, at reporting time, was scrounging up 100 and 200 word bits like spare change while I desperately tried to do math. I love you, never change.

The title of "Specter" goes to @somer-writes (Somer), who logged in very few sprints, but participated with the rest of us and pulled up at the end with a whole 7.5K words and a bunch of fics to post at the end, with a lot of it being Ghost AU! He's amazing.

The award "Better Late than Never" goes to our resident artist and recently turned fic-writer @estelian-01 (Este), who joined only in the last half of the marathon but managed to pull a whole 4K! Pictures might be worth a thousand words, but Este wrote a couple more anyway.

@across-violet-skies (Riv) gets the title "Mover and Shaker (of Blorbos)" for managing to participate and get quite the hefty wordcount only a DAY after moving. They're a trooper, that's for sure.

@anime-obsessed (Vio/Nene) earns the award "Most Old School" for writing with pen and paper for most of the day. Please go rest your wrist after all of that.

The award "Head in the Clouds" goes to my bestie and beloved beta reader @needfantasticstories (Skip), who spent the day listening to music and writing Skyloft drabbles. I am nervous/excited to see if those drabbles turned out fluffy as a Loftwing, or perhaps into something more angsty.

@noorahqar (Qar), my lovely fragile Victorian wife, earns the title "Chatty." You know why. But you were there nearly all of the run time, and so engaging and encouraging throughout---a blessing to us all. And even then, you managed to pull so many words. I'm impressed.

And finally, @rosehipandroots / @rosetintedtears (Rose) receives the titles "ndskanefnre" (self chosen) and "Birthday Santa." The first was borne of panic of being asked to choose a title---the second of her relentless effort to get her birthday fics done. Great job.

I'd like to thank everyone that I tagged for participating in the write-a-thon, and thank all of you for helping me draft this post as well. If I messed up any word counts or details or pronouns, you want to request a title/award change, or I missed someone, please DM and let me know! The next Write-a-thon will be held on July 1 from 12am to 12am GMT, and we'll be trying to beat our record. Can't wait to see all of you then!

#linked universe #lu #linkeduniverse #linked universe fic #lu fic #lu write-a-thon #write-a-thon #more like #write-a-ton #ya'll did amazing #cheetowrites

[makismei]

(18+ somewhere randomly near the end bc my pussy took over) it is currently 2:57am and while i was writing an upcoming fic, i suddenly thought of nanami, as your underclassman at jujutsu high... not proofread (possibly incoherent) i am sorry i finished at 5am

he's two years younger than you, but he's been enamoured by you since he spoke to you back when he was sixteen on your eighteenth birthday, hosted at gojo's condo.

almost everyone was drunk, courtesy of shoko managing to get her hands on bottles of tequila and vodka. you were barely tispy, finding a completely sober nanami stuck to a wall with his eyebrows pulled together. he doesn't like it here. he wants to go home. but this is what being a teenager is like... right?

through flashing lights and loud music, you told him that cherishing your youth goes beyond what he's seeing before his eyes.

with you being a third year, he rarely saw you at the school. up close, he realizes how beautiful you are and that your perfume suits you so well.

"being a child is just fine," you say, as if you aren't only two years older. "you have your whole life to experience partying."

you end up outside on the balcony, talking all night about anything and everything.

and nanami learns, at sixteen, what uncontrollably clammy hands feel like, stuttering over simple words and the desperation for more of your presence.

since that night, he looks for you on campus when you are between missions. in the beginning, he couldn't find the courage to start conversation, but slowly, it starts to come to him easy.

over the years, he's seen you introduce your older boyfriends to your friends. he's also seen you get your heartbroken because the men that you chose to love were straight up losers.

what is he to do? clearly, you have a type and it's not him. although, he is confident he can treat you far better.

you like dark hair and tattoos, "manly" looking men but they don't even hold the door for you. what the hell is wrong with you? nanami swears, if he was yours, you'd never look back.

nanami is freshly nineteen, listening to you talk to shoko and utahime about how relationships are no longer worth your time. something inside of him feels disgusting because you're pouring your heart out and god, he just thinks you're so beautiful.

when he confesses to you for the first time, he is twenty-one and it's winter. it's been three years since your last relationship and you haven't pursued another since. he knows it's a long shot, but he goes for it anyways.

you smile, hand on his arm, "you deserve better than me, kento. but thank you, truly. i'm flattered you think of me so highly."

nanami raises a brow, "who doesn't?"

you're halfway into your door, smiling sadly. "you'd be surprised."

six months later, you're in cahoots with a horrible man and nanami thinks he's going to go bald early. why do you do this to yourself????

since his confession, he's tried to be mindful so he doesn't make you uncomfortable. but in the most friendship way possible, he tries to show you there are men (meaning: him, he is best fit for you) that are willingly to love you the way you deserve (him).

you, on the other hand, are biting your nails as far as you can, you cannot be catching feelings for nanami kento? you've never seen him in a romantic light, even after he confessed, but recently there has to be something poisonous in the air.

you blocked that douchebag two days ago because talking to him makes you feel disgusting. but you think you might unblock him to save nanami.

nanami cannot be yours, sure he's younger than you and you swore you would never date a younger man because they're so "immature", but nanami is a good... mature person. he is honest and hardworking, growing into his features and in turn, becoming more handsome as the years go by.

you'd be lying if you weren't jealous thinking about the woman that he would call his one day.

you think it's for the better. nanami cannot get caught up with your antics. he's really only seen the good sides and the thought of him seeing your bad sides makes you nauseous. he'd hate you, for sure. then what would you do?

but it doesn't matter, you don't even like him like that! but he's such a good friend you can't fathom the thought of ruining your friendship.

but what if he gets a girlfriend? you're pacing back and forth in your living room, obviously you can't be close with him anymore because that is just so suspicious.

oh my god. you're spiralling.

what do you do? you call nanami.

you tell him everything and more, that you're sorry, that you might be confused but your gut is telling you otherwise. you cry on the phone to him because you're at a loss and you feel so guilty.

nanami does not say a word or make a sound.

until, you hear a knock on your door through the phone and in real life.

"will you let me see you?" he asks, desperate. "i need to see you."

"you had me waiting for so long." he mutters, hips swinging into yours. he has you in a mating press, forehead pressed against yours. "am i making you feel good, beautiful? tell me."

you nod, legs quivering at his sides. "you're so good—i.. i think i'm gonna cum again!"

he shushes you, kissing you so deeply your mind goes blank. he starts thrusting harder and your mind is so mushy you can't even kiss him back. nanami groans, this can't be real. you feel so good that he might get addicted.

he can't let you go now that he's had a taste. he's not letting you go.

you love him. you told him in a panic over the phone.

you love him.

he needs you wholeheartedly and even though he had to wait almost eight years, he would gladly wait another eight years because if it's not you, it's no one. over the years he's loved you one-sidedly, he did a lot of thinking.

a silly high school crush ended up swallowing him whole. he was searching for you in all the blind dates gojo made him go on because gojo was convinced he was cooked and that you would not like him back.

so to see gojo's jaw dropping when you kissed nanami on the lips in the jujutsu tech courtyard, made his heart swell.

he was always yours.

you think that maybe, you've loved nanami for longer than you've thought.

"thanks for waiting for me." you breathe, "i'll make you happy."

nanami smiles, "you will always make me happy."

#is this ooc? pls let me know if you like... i kind of want to start a mini series on this i have so many thoughts #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen fluff #nanami kento x reader #nanami imagines #nanami x reader #nanami fluff #nanami smut

[ooihcnoiwlerh]

I have provided fresh meat, my Darlings!

The link to the entire fic as well as the new chapter is provided above.

@blazeflays @wo-ming-bai @richardslady121 Also please let me know if you would also liked to be tagged with updates!

CW: dubious consent; arranged marriage; forced marriage; forced pregnancy; rough sex; implied/referenced child abuse; blood kink; problematic smut; implied/referenced sexual abuse; implied/referenced torture

Chapter summary: Feyd-Rautha and the Reader look at each other and think, "They need work, but it's fine. I'm training them."

Chapter Notes:

-This chapter doesn't have quite as much plot or action and is generally more introspective/kind of shows a turning point and transition to both the Reader starting to learn to play the game and Feyd-Rautha seeking to challenge and unnerve her. Basically the Reader thinking, "I don't think I can reasonably make him better but I can make him treat me better" and Feyd thinking, "I can make her worse😈" -There have been a lot of interpretations of Feyd-Rautha's Darlings given that there's little information we're really given within the movie and I really like the theory that I've seen going around that they're effectively animals with human bodies that were experimented on by the Bene Tleilax.

CHAPTER SEVEN: YOU'RE LEARNING

You wake up early the next morning to your morning coffee and a reminder of your mother’s advice.  She dispensed it more than once over the years, enough that you were able to repeat it verbatim: sometimes a person isn’t a person, but an obstacle. Sometimes they’re obstacles that you need to face, problems that you need to solve. Find out what they need that you can use to get ahead.

So what does Feyd-Rautha want and how do you get it for him in order to temper him, make him more amenable to you?  He’s made clear at this point what he doesn’t want: compassion that he’s undoubtedly misconstrued as pity, any reminders of his childhood and adolescence, and any insinuations–intentional or otherwise–that he’s inadequate as a man.  

That leaves what he does want from you, and for the most part you think you know.  He wants you to have his children, and that’s in progress if not now, then soon.  He wants, well, other than last night, he’s been transparent that he wants you , carnally if for nothing else.

He also wants you to properly learn to fight at the level he wants, and there’s no way it’s just for your sake, or even wanting you to stay safe as the mother of his future children.  Those are a given.  

You can’t forget the way he’d gotten hard during your training and the way he spoke about it later.  You hadn’t seen it in the arena when he was slashing throats with theatricality and precision but little else, but this must be intimate for him.  It doesn’t surprise you once you think about it; a man who enjoys the taste of your blood would most certainly get off on getting a knife at your throat, even if he’s not allowed to cut it.

So how do you use that?  The Reverend Mother Mohiam all but stated that seduction was the key to tempering and subduing him into something you can handle but that’s easier said than done.  You’ve understood on some level for years now that you’d one day have to learn to use your sex as a tool, but it’s easier to implement in theory rather than practice.  The limited experience you’ve had before this–kisses both stolen and given freely at night when you’d slipped away unsupervised, fondling over the clothes, above the waist, and once grasping and sliding your hand over a boy you’d liked as he’d panted and moaned directions at you and you’d frantically tried to finish him off before either of you could get caught--weren’t for an agenda but for its own enjoyment.  Before your wedding night the only person who’d dared go beneath your skirts was you.  And then, of course, you’re reasonably certain that most men don’t keep an entire armoire of devices to use or have used on them while in bed, that most men aren’t eager to taste their wife’s blood, that most men don’t carry around the kind of shame and buried anger that your husband does wrapped in a deep-seated need to hurt and be hurt.

But that’s the hand that you’ve been dealt, and the only leverage you’ll be getting out of this marriage is by appealing to those desires and using your own body as a tool to keep him satiated and keep you in the best of his care.

By the time you’ve finished plaiting your hair you’ve decided that you’ve learned enough since your wedding night that you can try and use to your advantage.  You’ll keep adapting and if one of the ways to win him over is at knifepoint, then so be it.

And if he wants to banish everyone from the Training Halls so he can rut into you like an animal next to a rack of knives, then fine.  You can take him however he comes to you.

You try to keep all this in mind as you leave your chambers and take to the Training Halls for another lesson.

Feyd-Rautha already appears to have broken a sweat.  Drills, you assume, and done alongside his men if their matching sheens are anything to go by.

Korvo’s back to train you, he says.  He needed to have part of his jaw wired shut but otherwise he’s fine; he just won’t be able to talk much for a while.

And strangely enough it’s true; whatever Healer Korvo went to did an excellent job because there’s not a lot of bruising or swelling.  It occurs to you that he looks a few years older than Feyd, and you can’t help but wonder what Korvo thought about the hushed rumors about the Baron’s proclivities years ago.  About Feyd-Rautha, the boy who’s become the man he now serves.

As for your husband, it’s as if the past couple of nights never happened.  He seems indifferent as he hands you your shield device and a knife.  There’s not a trace of the quiet rage from early yesterday morning nor the cold domination of last night.  Not that you were ever going to ask him, especially not with other people around, but he gives you your answer to the silent question, When are we going to talk about yesterday? The answer?  Never .

He has Korvo start off slowly with you, a warm-up of sorts, movements guarded as you go over strikes and parries before taking over for the rest of your session.

You think you’re prepared for it this time as he starts to speed up, stops going through the motions and actually starts sparring with you.  You tell yourself that no one’s going to catch you unawares again, but well.  His training is a lot more extensive than yours.  You let out a yelp, realizing yet again that you weren’t focused enough on his footwork and he’s taken the opportunity to trip you.  You stumble, catching yourself just in time to avoid a fall.

“You’ve had a day to rest,” Feyd says.  “There’s no reason you can’t be pushed farther.”

To rest .  He was the one that told you not to come and train yesterday.  You clench your jaw and strike again.  If anything Feyd-Rautha seems amused by your irritation and sends you stumbling again with a swat on the backside with the flat of his knife.

You turn, incredulous and with an insult on the tip of your tongue.

“Don’t strike in anger,” he says, holding back a smirk.  You raise your chin and try to level your gaze at him as you try to collect yourself.

Hey, this is actually a good sign , a part of you realizes.  There’s something almost close to playful in the way he’s looking at you right now.  He’s already in a far better mood than he was yesterday .  This is working for him.

You roll your shoulders and take a defensive stance, silently gesturing for him to strike first, and this time he actually grins.

Breakfast afterwards is its own task.  You’ve gotten your appetite back this morning, but only when you forget everything except your own hunger and especially try your best to ignore the man at the head of the table.  You’ll try to bury what you know about the Baron for now, or at least try to act like he doesn’t disgust you.  Not that he’d care what you think of him, not like you can do anything about it.

Instead you wonder about what motherhood looks like on this planet.  You’ll not want for anything, you’re sure, in terms of space for the baby and help raising it, but you hope the Baron isn’t an indicator of how children are raised here.  You haven’t seen many children in the Fortress–the sons and daughters of captains and generals, you’re sure–and you haven’t interacted with any. Feyd-Rautha mentioned military and combat training for any sons you’ll have but what about general schooling?  

When the children come, surely you’ll be a part of their lives somehow?  You’ll make certain of it.  You have to; they’ll be raised in the Harkonnen culture but they’ll still be half you , and you’ll do everything to make sure they never forget that, where you come from and the half of them that you represent.

“Not too tired from your training session, are you?” Feyd-Rautha asks, and you realize that you’ve been drifting off, staring into the distance.  You hadn’t expected him to notice.

“Oh, no, husband,” you tell him.  “Just lost in thought.  Actually, I was curious about where one might put a nursery in the private quarters.”  Not that there would’ve been any use for them within the royal family in decades, but surely there must have been something installed before?

As soon as Feyd starts to answer, the Baron interrupts, “What are you training her for?”

“Just in the event of an emergency or ambush, I want her to be prepared to defend herself.  If the time ever comes that I’m not there to do it for her,” Feyd-Rautha adds.

The Baron looks at him with those beady blue eyes.  “You really think such a thing will ever happen, boy?” he asks, and there’s an undercurrent to his tone that makes you look away, never mind that they’ve started talking about you as if you aren’t there.

Boy .  As if not just Feyd’s title but his very manhood is a privilege his uncle bestows on him that he can revoke at a moment’s notice.

Feyd ignores the taunt.  “Just planning ahead,” he says.  It doesn’t come back up.  When you excuse yourself to use the bathroom the Baron doesn’t react when you come back.  He barely seems to notice you’re there.

To him, you are not family.  You are the orifice his handsome young nephew buries himself in and the birthing canal that will add to the Harkonnen lineage, but not a real person who’s earned any familiarity with him nor will you ever be.  That suits you just fine and you find that you’d rather he ignore you than pay any special attention to you, just so long as he never gets to sink his claws into your future children.  

Speaking of which, “The Fortress has everything you could need,” Feyd says.  “Our children will have their own quarters and plenty of staff to watch over them.”

And how about allowing me to watch over them? you want to ask, but won’t, especially since you’re not alone.  Or do ladies of leisure outsource all of that here?   Idrisa will know; you’ll save your real questions for her.

After breakfast Feyd-Rautha offers you his arm.  “I imagine you’re interested in the relaxation chambers now?” he asks.  “They provide massages.  Great for the joints.”

“I could be persuaded,” you tell him, feeling not just sore from earlier this morning but from two days ago.  You’d never considered yourself a lazy person but you’ve also never committed to any kind of daily training regimen and the nighttime and occasionally additional morning routines in the bedroom certainly haven’t helped.

“It’s interesting,” you tell him, “training with you and seeing how you do it, even if I’m not there for all of it.”

“That wasn’t my last training session for the day,” he says.  “I’m going back soon.”

You blink.  “Why?” you ask him.  He’d clearly started early and gotten his heart pumping by the time you’d arrived.

“To be as physically prepared as I can for the arena showing on my birthday.  It’s less than three weeks away at this point,” he says.

You look over at him with your brows furrowed.  What does he really need extra preparation for?  He’s in no danger, there’s no real risk.

He seems to understand your confusion.  “It’s important that I look like I'm in top form,” he explains, which just presents further questions.

How will they even know what your body looks like?  If it’s anything like last time, you’ll be the only fighter in the arena that’s fully dressed .

“Well, alright,” you finally.  You look back at him.  “So you’re going to have to get changed again into training gear, and then shower again and change again after that?”

“Yes,” he says, voice curt.  “Appearance is important here.”

Yours is, certainly , you don’t tell him.  But you do realize that your uncle’s still the Baron and he floats around in his suspensor chair wearing a long nightgown?  If he’s ever cared about his appearance, he must’ve stopped years ago .  You suppose that it’s one of many ways that Feyd’s turned out differently from him, although not the most important.  It’s not for nothing that even though you have no idea how he’ll turn out as a parent–yet another thing that scares you about this–he still won’t be as bad of a parental figure as his uncle.

He looks at you for a moment and you realize that you haven’t spoken and have just enough sense to realize that giving a simpering compliment about his looks will come across as not only disingenuous but suspicious.  “My apologies,” you admit.  “I was just thinking about what expectations will be placed on our children.”

“Our son, although we’ll need more than one, will embody all Harkonnen core values: power, ambition, resilience, intellect.  I’ll accept no less and neither will anyone else on Geidi Prime,” he says. How long has he been thinking about fatherhood, you wonder?  Or is he repeating what he’s been told time and time again what the Baron wants out of him? 

“And if one of our children is a daughter?” you ask, hoping that doesn’t happen.  It’s bad enough to be a man on this planet.

“She’ll be expected to be gracious, discreet, and always careful and cognizant of her surroundings,” Feyd says.  “She’ll be composed even under pressure and adaptable.”

You try to absorb this, wondering how much he thinks you fit that mold yourself and assuming that you come up short.  “I thought the first word you were going to say was fertile ,” you tell him.

“That goes without saying,” he says.  “It’ll be her greatest contribution to the family to add to its lineage.”

I think you just described my responsibilities and expectations here, you think as he escorts you to the relaxation chambers.

Before he leaves he gives you a brief kiss–a little reward, perhaps, for minding yourself.  “You’re learning,” is all he says.

You’d expected the rooms to have the same austere black and gray background as the Dining Halls, the Throne Room, even the bedrooms, but whatever materials used for the doors and panels emulate the colors and patterns of cedar even though you doubt it’s real wood and the textured walls are painted a warm, pale cream.  It feels like a different environment entirely, reminiscent of the women’s bathhouses on your home planet.  The attendant inside recognizes you immediately, although you assume that it’s hardly a challenge.  “ You can’t mistake the Na-Baroness ,” you’re sure servants tell each other, “ she’s the only one in this Fortress with hair. ”

Most of the attendants are women, and again most of them seem young, hardly more than girls.

“Welcome, Na-Baroness.  We do so hope that you enjoy our accommodations,” the first attendant says, her head in a respectful decline as she curtsies.  “How may we be of service today?”

When you tell her that you were hoping for a simple massage because your joints have been feeling stiff she reacts as though you’ve told her that all your bones have shattered.

“I’m so sorry to hear you’ve been in discomfort, Na-Baroness,” she says.  “We’ll make sure to ease all aches and pains.”

As she guides you away and towards a private room you sense people looking at you and notice a couple of higher-ranking women in dressing robes, undoubtedly here for a bit of relaxation themselves.  As soon as you look over at them, they glance away, pretending that they’re looking off into the distance.  You want to stop, walk over, and introduce yourself to them ( they know who you are, though.  Everyone knows that the Na-Baron just married an arranged non-Harkonnen bride from another planet ) but you don’t get the chance.  Instead you tear your gaze away to follow the attendant to another room with what you must assume is a synthetic material that effectively mimics the appearance and grain pattern of wood, complete with a changing station, a table with oils and towels, and in the middle a covered massage table with a servant on either side who bow as soon as you enter.

It’s an interesting experience, to be sure.  The servants attending to you are quiet and gracious, but you’re made starkly aware again of your foreignness.

Your hair confuses them, for one thing.  They look at and touch it as if they’re not sure whether or not they think it’s attractive when you've spent your entire life before Geidi Prime being told that it’s beautiful.  They’re gentle with you, careful when undressing you and guiding you to a massage table.  When kneading oil into your sore muscles they treat you as if you’re delicate, even though they’re smaller than you are.  They work silently, your own muffled moans when they work out a particularly sore spot the only sounds other than the ambient mist coming from the next room.  

You wonder at first if it’s because they only speak Harkonnen and not the Imperial Standard, but as they’re getting finished one of the young women–probably not much older than you, although it’s still difficult to tell without any hair or eyebrows to better indicate her age–timidly asks, “Would the Na-Baroness like to be given stimulation as part of her massage?”

You blink, not sure you heard correctly, and raise yourself up on your elbows.  “Stimulation?” you repeat, brow furrowing.

“Some people enjoy other kinds of massage as a form of relief, Na-Baroness.  We’d be honored to indulge you if you prefer,” she says, looking down the moment you look up.

I’m still lost , you almost tell her before it sinks in.  “Oh!” you say, the single word slipping out.  The woman flinches, undoubtedly worried that she’s offended you.  It’s probably why she hasn’t said a word this entire time; she has no idea how to talk to you, what you would consider appropriate or not, and would rather not speak at all than risk saying the wrong thing.  You gape for a moment before managing, “No thank you.  A-a normal massage is plenty.”

She bows.  “Very well, Na-Baroness.  Is there anything else we can do in service to you?”  

You’d been curious about the other rooms but suddenly you wish for nothing more than to leave.  “No thank you, not today.  The massage was all I needed.”

“It was our pleasure, Na-Baroness.  We are at your disposal,” the woman says, words you’ve already heard multiple times.  “Let us help you redress.” 

They gently wipe off any excess oil with damp washcloths and dry you off before guiding you back into your clothes as if scared they’ll hurt you, or rather, scared that you’ll say something that gets them in trouble.  Even a foreign woman commands fear if she’s married to the right Harkonnen, even if she’s never going to be a true Harkonnen herself and whether they’re scared of you because of who you’re married to or also because of who you are, it makes no difference.

In spite of everything, when you get back to your quarters you realize that physically, you feel great ; better than you have since your wedding.  You feel pliant and loose-limbed, your skin soft and supple.  In theory it should give you all the energy you need to continue your studies of this planet and its language.

But your self-imposed Harkonnen lessons aren’t holding your attention; the grammar structure is fairly simple, and you’ve learned a few basic words and phrases (and obscenities, because you’re pretty sure that that’s most of what Feyd-Rautha grunts in your ear when he’s fucking you) and you can’t help your restlessness as you settle back in your chair.

You tap your fingertips against your desk, mind wandering to your husband, your body remembering with a throb how he feels inside you.  You’re getting used to it more and more, for the most part even learning to enjoy it.  

He might be coming back from his second training session soon.  Maybe he’s already come back and is taking his second shower or bath of the day.  Maybe you’ll ask him about his armoire, which he hasn’t opened for you since that first night, but, and you pause, thinking it over, picturing him sweaty from his training, and think, no.   The armoire can wait.  If you want to improve your seduction game, you can start by being the one to initiate your encounters.  You can start now.

You strip again, wondering how he’ll react to you entering his chambers.  Hopefully amenable to it; he probably won’t dismiss you if you come to him like this.  If nothing else he has an incentive to put a baby in you, you think as you wrap yourself up in one of your robes and pad over to your bathroom.

You press your ear to the door joining your bathroom to his.  The water’s running: he must be showering.  You wait, heart pounding, thinking, It will be fine.  Think about this morning; he seemed reasonably happy with you this morning.

You shut your eyes for a moment, take a breath, and open the door.

He’s standing in the middle of his shower, his eyes on you from the moment you step inside.  He turns the water off and watches you silently, eyes falling to your robe.  He must be fully aware of the fact that you’re wearing nothing underneath.

“Sorry to interrupt, husband,” you say, hoping that your intuition is correct.  “I was just…” bored? Interested in your company? Curious about how else you decompress after training? You swallow, fiddling with the sash of your robe.

Feyd says nothing at first as he steps out of the shower and onto the soft mat on the black granite floor.  Any words you have die before they can reach your lips as he steps in closer and the height difference between you feels vaster than it’s felt before.

His eyes flicker to your robe.  “Take that off,” he says.

You look him in the eye, raising your chin slightly as you unfasten the sash around your waist and brush the robe off your shoulders and onto the floor, presenting yourself for him as naked as the day you were born.  The two of you stand in silence for a moment; he’s dripping wet and you’re, well…you bite your lip and hesitate before reaching out, wrist turning as you wrap a hand around him.  You feel awkward in the ensuing silence, brushing your thumb over the tip of him and glancing between his face and his cock, breath catching in your throat as you see the way his gaze darkens.  You open your mouth to speak but find yourself at a loss for words.

It doesn’t occur to you that he might prefer this to any polished seduction or that he likes your nerves, your earnestness.  That you've come to him as if yesterday never happened and like he's a whole intact man with no buried shame.  He stiffens rapidly under your touch, silently daring you to keep fondling him.  You wonder if it would be worth it to sink to your knees and take him into your mouth–you’ve done it once before as a preamble to the act itself and remember every detail and lesson of it vividly–when Feyd-Rautha starts walking you backwards, backwards, until you reach his bathroom wall and you drop your hand in surprise.

“I…” you start and he silences you with a kiss, gripping the back of your head and tilting your head up to meet him.  Once he has you where he wants you, your arms wrapping around his shoulders, his hands slide down your sides, over your hips and ass, coming to the backs of your legs, nudging you forward.

“C’mon,” he says, his rasp quiet but commanding in the echoes of his bathroom.  You can’t help your nervous laugh as you hop up and he catches you, hands under your thighs that he quickly wraps around his hips, holding you in place as his cock brushes against your folds, your lower belly.  It’s filled out and ready and you bite your lip as you think: how to maneuver…?  

You glance back up at him and his expectant gaze.  Come on, pet, he seems to tell you.  You’re a clever little thing, you can figure it out, and so you grip his cock again and position it at your entrance, almost laughing at how two weeks ago you’d have been hard-pressed to know exactly where it is and how to properly penetrate it.

You gasp, head falling forward as you sink down onto him and cry out as he jerks his hips up, filling you the rest of the way.  It’s always such a deep ache and stretch when he buries himself in you and you’re never quite given enough time to adjust to the size of him before he starts moving and it feels like he’s so deep in you that can hardly breathe.  Every time he picks a new angle to fuck you in it almost shocks you how he seems to find another way to make as though there’s no part of your insides that he hasn’t touched, and you hold onto him, trying to rock back down on him, and finding you can only really cling to him.  He buries his face in your neck, breathing in the scent of your hair and the tonic you use for it, before pausing, shifting you further onto him, and moving away from the wall.  You yelp, tightening your thighs around his waist and wondering what he’ll do next, where he’ll take you.   

He carries you, then, out of the bathroom and to his bed where he drops you unceremoniously on your back and following you as you go.  You both grunt as he lands on top of you and pushes your legs further back towards your chest and he braces his arms on either side of your head.

It’s hard and rough and fast, your knees pushed back nearly to your shoulders that he spreads wide to make room for his own.  Your cries as he pounds into your open, vulnerable body spur him on and he drops his forehead to yours, panting against your mouth.  He speaks in the Imperial Standard this time when he says, “Like a little songbird, making pretty noises for me,” and brings his mouth to the juncture of your neck and jaw.

You let out a whine as he continues, his tongue flickering and then lapping at the sensitive skin like he’s done before to your cunt.  You gasp and readjust your grip on his shoulders, almost stunned at the visceral reactions he can pull from just that.  You’d known it was a sensitive area, had been kissed there before, but especially juxtaposed against the pounding of him inside of you it’s–it’s–

“A -aaah! ” you manage, clenching around him, barely holding on, your legs shaking as he speeds up, his mouth continuing the onslaught.  The whimpers that spill out of you escalate and turn to a sharp cry as he bares his teeth and bites down.

He grunts, hips pumping, as he comes inside of you, his teeth and lips on the sensitive skin of your neck and your arms wrapped around him.  He gives one final thrust for good measure before dropping his head to your neck, his breath harsh.  You hold onto him for a moment as he pauses and pulls out.

Will you let me hold you again?  I liked that.  I liked when you rested on me and I got to pet you as if you could ever be made docile .  You don’t ask, and don’t know how to.  He rolls over onto his back.

“I trust that training went well, husband?” you ask instead after you catch your breath and start to come down.

He grunts an affirmative and for a moment you think that’s the end of it.  He takes a breath, though, mulling over the silence between the two of you.  You wait, sensing his realization that you’d like to hear more.  That the two of you can have a normal conversation like a normal married couple.  “Sparred with a few of my men, then a couple of criminals in the dungeons.  They don’t provide as much of a challenge but it still keeps me alert to practice on someone who actually wants to kill me.”

“They weren’t sedated?” you ask.

He shakes his head, exhaling.  “Not these ones.  Didn’t want to contaminate their bloodstream,” he says.

You think back to over a week ago, and something Idrisa told you.  “So you could safely feed them to your Darlings afterwards?” you ask.

He turns his head to you and you do the same, mirroring him.  His full lips part as he mulls your words over.  “Now where’d you hear about them?” he asks, clearly trying to think back to a time when he’s mentioned them to you and coming up with nothing.

“Idrisa,” you add when you don’t see any recognition in his eyes at the name, “my personal attendant, mentioned that you had pets that you fed human remains.”

This piques his interest, it seems.  He rises up on one elbow, turning to his side, leaning over you.  “How did she describe them?” he asks.

You shrug, not sure how that makes a difference.  “She didn’t.  She just said that you feed human flesh to what you called your Darlings,” you say, not bothering to hide your distaste.  You’re not going to pretend to like or condone everything he does; not like it would stop him.

Feyd-Rautha’s eyes glint.  He breaks into a smile that is equal parts delighted and cruel.  “Is that really all she told you?” he says.  He doesn’t move a millimeter, but you can sense his growing excitement coiled tight within him like he’s ready to pounce.

“So…what are they?  Canine or feline?  Or aquatic?” you ask, not sure if you want to know or get a more specific image but asking all the same.

Feyd-Rautha looks at you as though you’ve given him the greatest gift he didn’t even have to ask for.  “Would you like to meet them?” he asks instead of answering your question.

No, of course not , you want to tell him.  I have no interest in meeting a bunch of animals who devour people whole .  “Sure.  Why not,” you say.

His black teeth and gums are unnerving against the pallor of the rest of him before his smile turns closed-mouthed again into a smirk.  

When you’ve both dressed and left his chambers, you assume that he’s going to lead you to a dungeon, but he instead starts walking down a corridor not far from the private wing.

“I’d keep them closer,” he says over his shoulder, “but they make such a mess.”

So a pool or a moat would be out of the question, but a shark tank is still feasible , you think.  

He reaches a door, and the first moment you step inside and see what’s on the padded platform in front of you, you want to roll your eyes and walk back out.

So he’s taken me on a detour first to meet his concubines , you think.  

Three naked, lithe, bald-headed women lie curled up sleeping, nestled against one another like a pile of kittens.  You raise your eyebrows, letting out an irritated huff.  You should’ve known that he keeps concubines; most leaders from Major Houses do.  It’s just that he’d seemed so preoccupied with you that you’d almost forgotten that very possibility.  These are the women he normally slakes his lust with and what he’ll go back to once you’ve confirmed that you’re carrying his seed.  You have a snide remark on the tip of your tongue about how nice it is to meet the other women he fucks.  

But then you notice that there’s blood drying on their hands, caking their sharp-nailed fingertips and you realize what the smell of the iron tang that permeated the air really is. Dread settles in the pit of your stomach.

“What’s going on?” you say aloud to no answer.

The women stir, and then they open their eyes.  They have neither pupils nor irises.  Pure ink black, stares, unthinking, back at you.

When you first met him you’d been quick to assume that Feyd-Rautha lacked all humanity beyond his physical form, but this is what it truly looks like when a person has no human essence.  You’re not sure what they’re seeing when they look at you but they perceive nothing except the sight of warm meat.

Abomination!  Abomination! you think, too frozen to scream it out loud, the sound of it only coming out of you in a pitiful squeak when they start to move, clambering towards you.

Oh, Great Mother, they move like animals, on all fours .  One of them opens her mouth, teeth and gums as black as her master’s but her teeth are sharpened into fangs she bares in what may be a smile, may be a snarl. 

Oh, fuck this.   

You turn and start to run when Feyd-Rautha holds his arm out to grab you around the chest and pull you to his side as he says something in Harkonnen that you try to grasp.

Something-something woman something-something food.  Okay, that was a negation.  He’s saying something like “she’s not food.”  You gasp and dig your nails into his forearm, unable to look away from them, the way they tilt their heads at you.

You can hear them hiss and chatter, put out that he hasn’t presented them with a meal, and you realize that they’re speaking in neither the Imperial Standard nor Harkonnen battle-language but a vague imitation of human speech.

“What the fuck?  What the fuck? ” you say aloud, struggling in Feyd-Rautha’s grip, watching as they scurry closer to the two of you, sniffing at you in particular.

You stare at the fathomless depths of their unblinking black eyes and how they tilt their heads, even their curiosity utterly fucking terrifying.

“You said you wanted to meet my Darlings,” Feyd-Rautha says in a satisfied tone.  “Don’t be rude.  They like you.” He says something in Harkonnen to the women that you can’t decipher, and their chattering ceases and demurs into near-purring.

One of them sniffs and nuzzles at your stomach and you flinch, wondering how quick she’d be to open her mouth and take a bite of your sensitive skin if her master allowed it.  Your stomach that within a few months will swell with Feyd-Rautha’s heir.  Does she understand what any of that means?  Do any of them?

How naive you were, thinking that he kept animals as his pets, normal women as his concubines.  How silly and childish to think that he wouldn’t be as much of a degenerate as you feared.  

Just when I think I’ve adjusted to this insane planet I see something even worse.    

Feyd-Rautha closes the door and directs his gaze up and down the length of your body, the tremors in your hands, your entire body shaking, in fact, and settles on your face.  He says nothing, waits for you to go first.

“What…” you bring a hand to your forehead, hoping that this is a nightmare, “ are they?”

He doesn’t smirk but you can sense his satisfaction.  He undoubtedly gets some entertainment out of each time he gets to introduce someone new to his Darlings, or rather, inflict his Darlings on them.  He probably doesn’t get the opportunity as often as he’d like.  “They’re a Bene Tleilax experiment,” he says.  “They thought we might enjoy them.”

“Why would they…” commit a crime against nature like this?  

“Because they can,” he says.  

“Then why have them?” you ask.

He looks at you as if you’re the unreasonable one.  “They already exist, and I’ve found some use for them.”

As his concubines .  “So you…” you feel nauseous at the idea, barely able to say it aloud, “...fuck them?”

Your shoulders sag with relief when you he says, “No, I don’t fuck them, Y/N.  They’re nice to look at but it would be akin to fucking a wild animal.  They can be entertaining, though.  And they’re a decent tool for intimidation.”

Entertaining .  You could use hundreds of words to describe what you just saw and the wretched nature of their existence and entertaining would not be one of them.

Still, you realize what he means.  His menagerie needs to eat to stay alive, and it provides incentive to stay on the Na-Baron’s good side.  No one wants to end up as food.  And how many men can honestly say, “ If you don’t do as I say I’m going to feed you to the trio of feral cannibal women I keep in my Fortress” ?  It’s a far more unique and memorable threat than any you’ve heard.

So they’re not his concubines; you don’t believe for one moment that he’d care enough to lie to you about that, which just makes you wonder where his real concubines are.  “Who were you fucking before I was assigned to you?  I wasn’t your first.”  

Feyd-Rautha’s lips quirk up for a moment in a brief almost-smile.  “There are times when people see me in the arena and want to know if I’m as much of a brute as I seem,” he says.  

“Are you?  With them?”  You haven’t forgotten that he’s expected to be better-behaved with you than he probably would be with someone else.  Someone potentially disposable.

His expression is carefully neutral as he seems to think on how much he wants to frighten you some more or how much he’ll let your own imagination do the work.  “I give them what they’re looking for,” he says after a moment.

You glance back over at the door.  How many people whisper about his trio of naked women the way they keep their head down about the Baron?  Does that not bother him, how people who know about this undoubtedly think, If he’s willing to stick his cock into them , what else is he capable of?

“You do know that calling them your Darlings, having them naked like this–it makes it seem like you have sex with them,” you tell him.

Feyd-Rautha looks unsurprised and unmoved.  “They can be sedated into being dressed sometimes.  It’s just too cumbersome to try and change them every day,” he says.  “Besides, people can think what they want,” he says.  “I don’t care, just as long as they fear my name.”

Very Harkonnen of you , you think.  “What are their names?” you ask instead.

He seems amused by the question.  “Didn’t bother.  They don’t need them,” he says.

You look back at the door.  They can’t always have been like this, could they?  “Did they not have names once?  Before…this?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says.  “They won’t remember.”

You can’t help but stare at him when he says that.  These were people once , you don’t need to tell him because he doesn’t care.  You don’t know what to say to him; the words dry up in your throat.  Here you were trying to bring out the human side to him when you get a stark reminder that for many people that side of him doesn’t exist.  You try to remember how the Reverend Mother assured you that he has weaknesses that you can use, just like any other man.  How he has his own, albeit twisted, moral code and sense of honor.

Count yourself lucky that it extends to you, you think.

You don’t like yourself very much when you think about it, the palpable fear he instills in everyone he thinks he can readily discard, and the fact that you’ve already decided that you’ll do your best to overlook it, for now anyways.  You have yourself and your future child to look after first.

#dune part 2 #dune 2 #feyd rautha #feyd rauth harkonnen #feyd x reader #feyd smut #feyd rautha smut #feyd x you #austin butler

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ PINING EDDIE YOU SAY??? i wrote a text post and then decided to fic it . (leslie knope voice; i'm big enough to admit i'm often inspired by myself)

for my 911 kiss roulette a kiss out of spite

buddie - (one side of) feelings realisation bonus 118 sticking it to the maneosis also on ao3

-

There's a muffled tirade of spluttering and hollering down below and then - “HAN! PANIKKAR! GET BACK HERE. BUCKLEY!!!!” - and Buck launches himself into the kitchen; in a jumble of laughing limbs with splotches of yellow and pink cornstarch gulal powder as bright as hibiscus splattered all over him. Adrenaline and mischief gleam in his eyes.

“Eddie, Eddie, Eddie-” he beckons. “Come here. Kiss me, quick!”

“What?” Eddie's baffled, but he's already moving, because it's Buck and of course he is. “Operation Holi Festival worked great. Gerrard's like, a millimetre away from admitting defeat. I reckon if we can get him with this he'll go hide in his office for the rest of shift. Or have a rage aneurysm. Either way, we'll be free. Come on, please?”

“I don't know if this is a good idea,” Hen objects, but the stomping footsteps portending the arrival of (a very, very ticked off) Gerrard are already on their way up.

Eddie is already nodding. Because it's Buck, and of course he is.

“Threetwoone, make it count!” Buck cries, and he leaps across the space between them to kiss his best friend with the world's biggest smile on his face.

And at first, Eddie thinks, that's just what he's doing. The more tender and perfect the kiss is, the better it works. For the bit, of course. The way his hands pull Buck's hips toward him like they've been doing this for years, that's just good acting. The way his lips chase Buck's and draw things out, unspeakably desperate for those extra few seconds for reasons he can't yet comprehend, well it's surely because he's just enjoying letting the old bigot stew in it isn't he – never mind the fact that Gerrard could hardly be farther from his thoughts.

No, his thoughts are consumed by Buck, Buck, Buck. Eddie knows more than most what it's like to have his life flash before his eyes and this is a lot like that. It's a grenade blast and a gunshot and a lightning strike and the brightest blue eyes in the entire world. It's the world-rending sound of screaming for him. It's the name scratched into his will. It's the familiar smile and the laughter he knows with his eyes closed; it's running down the footpath; it's making his son smile; it's handmade lasagne steaming with love, and pulling faces, and throwing popcorn, and falling asleep on his couch together. Maybe it's waking up together too, he thinks. Maybe it's forever.

And then it's over.

And Buck's laughing as he pulls away - all but cackling as Gerrard shouts meaningless abuse, neutralised by the rainbow splattered across him; his uniform dunked in orange and purple and bright sky blue, and a well aimed burst of pink tangled all in his moustache. His face is nearly a matching colour of fuchsia as – just as Buck predicted – he storms off to his office to sulk, or fume, or whatever will keep him out of their hair for the moment. An equally gulal-drenched Chim and Ravi join them at last, and Buck is caught up high-fiving and gesturing with them an emphatic group retelling of the story. He doesn't seem to notice that he's struck such a chord. Small mercies, Eddie thinks, since he still hasn't found it in himself to move.

(“What do you want?” Buck had asked him, not too long ago.

And now he knows, it's this, this, this.)

Across the room, Buck takes out his phone and urges Ravi and Chim into the frame for a photo. He's probably sending it to Tommy. Sharing the love.

It feels at once like he's flying and being shot out of the sky.

Hen meets his eyes, pain and sympathy.

“Uh oh,” she murmurs.

He has to agree.

#buddie #eddie diaz #tv: 911 #911 fic #911 on abc #911 on fox #prompt me stuff #clara's fic tag

[deeplyridiculouslyinlove]

Today in “a straight man wrote these books”: they all get naked for the Amyrlin ceremony?!

#honestly for the most part this book is far better than the last two in terms of weird gender stuff #but then when I’m least expecting it something weird like this pops up #at least the show won’t do this because getting naked to prove you’re a woman is terf-y af #this also ruins part of a fic I was writing in my head tbh #wheel of time #wot book spoilers

[zukkaoru]

the disparity in kudos between a skk fic and a fic for literally any other bsd characters/ship :/

#like okay i get it skk is the most popular bsd ship by a longshot #but it does kinda suck that my skk fics will always end up being more popular than literally anything else i write for bsd #when i have way better fics tbh #okay i'm unleashing this from my drafts lol #like i get it kudos/hits/bookmarks counts aren't telling of how good a fic is #but out of my last five fics. my skk one has ONE HUNDRED kudos more than the next most kudos #and idk it also sucks that i know my skk is better than 90% of the fandom but. even my skk fics get significantly less kudos/etc #than big writers in the fandom who AREN'T EVEN GOOD #or are like. mid at best #i know in theory that the bsd fandom doesn't care about characterization but like. not only do they encourage bad characterization #it feels like sometimes they're actively against good characterization #even in j.jk and a.tla where there are major issues with bad characterization #more people seem to at least appreciate the good characterization. (even if they aren't good at it themselves.) #but i swear to god no one in the bsd fandom cares about anything besides whether dazai and chuuya are kissing. it begins and ends there. #it never ceases to amaze me (derogatory) how a fandom where the source media draws So Much inspiration from classic literature #can somehow have NEGATIVE media literacy skills #why don't you guys take a break from your edgy dazai x softboy chuuya fics and you fems.kk with dazai in skimpy clothes and your #beast chuuya sobbing and killing himself over dazai's death #and go read some of the books by the actual authors. and then write me an essay about the themes that has nothing to do with shipping. #and THEN you can come back to the fandom. #listen i love skk but oh my god sometimes the fandom makes me hate them. #anyway one of these days i'm going to get anon hate for complaining about the bsd fandom so much but that's fine #at least i know there are characters in the show besides dazai and chuuya. and when i do write skk AT LEAST I DO IT RIGHT. #hello grace here

[onlyhuis]

maybe i just turn this into a jun only writing blog bc yall HATE when i write other members 😭

#[💒] — june.txt #ik i posted hao only a day ago so its too early to tell but. usually my fics do better than that #all my most recent non-jun fics have half as many notes as my recent jun fics #and i dont care about notes but ill get so many reblogs saying “ur my fav jun writer this is soo good!!” #and then i post anybody besides jun and its radio silence 😭😭 #like dang okay i hear u loud and clear i will stick to my niche ! #sorry im complaining i do appreciate all of u who like and reblog #just surprised bc i thought my last hannie one would do well and this hao one too but its been crickets

[americankimchi]

trying to find more padawan obi wan fics out there that don’t do the following:

turn qui gon into a villainous caricature by reducing him from a complicated, traumatized character to Horrible Person Who Abused Our Poor Obi-Wan Unjustly For His Entire Padawanship Without Pause

turn yoda into a crusty evil gremlin who is cold, calculating, and supremely manipulative. usually framed in a way to make him stuck in his old ways. basically the jedi equivalent of a republican conservative.

and for some reason ki adi mundi also gets this treatment??? what’s going on here

forget that the jedi are a religious community and not a government/military organization

ignore the jedi’s philosophies and ignore or misinterpret the tenets of the jedi code in bad faith

CONSTANTLY say that the jedi are incapable/not allowed to love because ~love is attachment and attachment is forbidden~ when this is so far off what canon AND george lucas tells us it’s hysterical

have obi wan defect/be abandoned by/get kicked out/otherwise leave the jedi order for whatever reason to join the mandalorians

if above happens, uses obi wan and the mandalorians as a mouthpiece to criticize the jedi order for being an inherently flawed organization for which there is no redemption

and instead does the following:

literally just treats the jedi with respect. please. i’m begging you. if i see another “the jedi order lets their children be abused within their organization because for some reason an entire temple full of level 100 psychic empaths would either not notice or care that one of their own is suffering” ice cold take i’m going to explode

#personal #most of the fics i've enjoyed reading fall into either one or more of these pitfalls and i just ignore it and move on #but just once....... just once i would like the ability to read a longfic where i don't have to slide my eyes over a paragraph #and willfully ignore its contents for my peace of mind hjgkhfjkdhgkjf #TO BE FAIR i have found many fics that i DO love with my whole heart that DO treat the jedi respectfully #but. statistically speaking. they are the minority............... #my kingdom to never see another ''the mandalorians were better than the jedi and obi wan would do so much better there<333'' fic ever again #like what do you MEANNNN #obi wan LIVED BREATHED AND LOVED being a jedi so much he is the DEFINITION of service above self #HIS FIRST AND GREATEST LOVE IS THE FORCE. HIS SECOND IS THE JEDI. #WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE WOULD LOVE THE MANDALORIANS MORE. WHAT DO YOU MEEEEEAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNN #THE JEDI WERE HIS FAMILYYYYYYYYYYyyYyYYYYyyyyyyyy #okay sorry i'm done sjkghfjkdg #it's just. the last three or four fics i've read. have all checked at least one or two boxes on my list and i'm tired 😔😔😔

[chryzure-archive]

*face buried in my hands* for the last time, please write your first book better if you’re going to be writing a series

#memorie.txt #.bookthoughts #i dont know what else to say. the amount of books i’ve read that are the first in a series that i didn’t realize #is… honestly more than i care to admit #but like. first books aren’t always this confusing!!!!!!!! #this isn’t the most egregious example i can think of but.. still. better pacing perchance? #rather than tossing revelations out in the last 25 pages and ending it w ‘book 2 out in a year!’ #i don’t mean to be mean. but. aughhh. #i do think modern publishing does make writing a novel harder because of deadlines #and not allowing authors to further polish their works before publishing #i’ve read lots of books that needed another pass or two before being excellent #but the nature of the beast is that we have a month where ppl scribble out a novel + then do minimal edits to that novel before publishing #please. rewrite. it makes the novel stronger and cleans up pacing issues and other dropped plot threads #it’s what i’m doing w lots of my fics before posting #i wish i’d done it w the october fic but alas. here we are

[starswallowingsea]

the fact i got infected with shu/madara brainrot over a joke i made to a friend on discord and now im being forced to make my own content

#LOOK bc shu is an oddball and therefore sees kanata as family if u subscribe to oddball family dynamic #which i DO #then obviously bc madara is important to kanata. regardless of personal grudges i think shu would tolerate madara #i have a fic im working on that starts with madara getting seriously injured and ending up in front of shu's dorm on accident #and shu patches him up and lets him stay the night. and he tells madara its only bc he cares about kanata #but i want to eventually develop it where shu cant bear seeing madara get hurt on his double face work #bc he cares about madara. not just bc he cares about kanata #im gonna wait to keep working on it til we get a dark night's passing #but this is the idea. shu reluctantly starting to care for someone bc they forced their way into his life #no matter how much he tries to push them away. they come back bc they cant go anywhere else #bc shu will keep their secret. at least. some of them. not if you're himeru unfortunately #but it would be on the condition that you dont tell anyone that shu has a soft side/cares about anyone other than mika #bc he does care about mika and i think everyone knows that. #most people care about their unit mates and after everything in basic #shu has tried to change for the better and encourages mika to be more independent in his own way #sorry i need to use the last of my bp and go to bed #shay speaks

[jasontoddiefor]

Yeah sure we’ve all binged a long fic, but have you ever read a WIP and followed someone’s life?

Tidbits of information - (“I graduated today!”) - and small joys (“It’s my birthday!”) and you get to be there to say “This chapter made me cry, happy birthday, thank you for gifting us this”.

I remember reading this fic of someone at the end of high school, older than me then. They seemed infinitely wise, spoke of their future career and getting into the college they wanted. I remember them posting on days they felt like nothing could bring them down - and on days the whole world did and it’s the aftermath of a hospital visit. Cancer, I think it was, their father. I got to the end of the story, I know their father was fine, but also they got to finish their WIP. I graduated three years later than them, still dutifully wrote thank you notes in every comment. I wonder if they remember me, or just the collective of people reading the story as it updates.

Four years ago I was into my first year of university, my first year of figuring out being out in public spaces. I made excuses as to why my name didn’t match my paperwork and read a fic on the train, the same five chapters over and over again for the next years as I thought the story abandoned. It updated this week after such a long hiatus, I left another thank you comment.

There’s an author I love, they update their stories like a clockwork. When they don’t, I check their blog, just to see if their doing alright, not because I feel like they owe me, just to ensure whether I better get out my laptop to write that really detailed university level essay chapter analysis to get them smiling when their day sucked.

And then, once, when I was 17, I read a fic that hadn’t updated in over a decade. I wasn’t even in primary school when it started posting. On the last chapter, I left a comment that, in retrospect, was horribly rambly and most likely full of grammar mistakes. The author replied and though I couldn’t see their face, I thought of them crying. They were married now, had children, and hadn’t thought about this fic in years. They went through their files again, found another half written chapter and an outline. I got two new chapters to read that year.

And then, recently, someone told me they got back into writing original fiction because of my comments. I get to read nearly weekly chapters.

I love binge reading a finished fic, but nothing is ever going to top the feeling of anticipation of waiting for a chapter, the pure joy when someone tells you I was done with this, but you made me think of it again, so this is for you.

Anyway, I think we should romanticize reading WIPs more, growing up alongside the authors writing the stories we love.

#writing #fandom #fanfiction #ao3 #archive of our own

[screampied]

all works are intended for a eighteen plus audience. second masterlist.

ପ multi headcanons ଓ

how they brat tame you.

being a brat ‘n spitting their load out.

no nut november.

hit it from the back.

too sweet. (cw aphrodisiacs)

slippery when wet. (cw squirting)

hiding your moans in bed.

she’s a super freak.

gimme gimme more.

three’s a crowd.

ride it like you own it.

but that dick was a 10/10.

just the tip girl.

ride the dick like a carnival.

scream no bologna.

talkin bodyyy.

slut stretch me out.

fuck me like u want me.

getting a screampie.

freak like me.

ପ oneshots/fics ଓ

★ — SATORU GOJO.

fantasize: you screw your fwb to get over your shitty ex. was it worth it though? probably…not.

sweet tooth: two culinary chefs compete on who can make you cream the most. get it?

fifteen seconds of fame: popstar!gojo needs help on warming up his vocal chords. his solution? right between your legs.

bad romance: you get sandwiched between popstar!gojo & his best friend of a bassist, suguru geto.

poker face: instead of receiving his fifth grammy for the night, popstar!gojo gets a…boner.

alejandro: arguing with the famous popstar leads for him to fire you. what happens when you see him with another assistant the next day?

it’s a match! last friday night: you end up ‘accidentally’ matching on tinder with your best friend—then you hook up with him, then the L word gets thrown around. damn!

★ — FUSHIGURO TOJI.

mission failed: nut ruined: you’re hired to kill a famous assassin but instead you end up in his bed.

love me, love me [ not ]: you get arranged to marriage toji. how does a single kiss make you weak so easily?

think i need someone older: fucking your dad's best friend was so wrong but felt so right.

darlin can i be your favorite: you fuck your dad’s two best friends and one of them is you ex-boyfriend (shiu kong)

one of his girlssss: your dad’s best friend finds out about your side hustle of being a camgirl. oops!

knock(her)out: you get shared between two boxers before their big match.

that girl is mine: you meet up with your dad’s best friend one more time, although instead of telling him those three words, you tell him something else.

★ — SUGURU GETO.

sweet tooth: two culinary chefs compete on who can make you cream the most. get it?

jailbreak: you’re a correctional officer for one of your inmates. sleeping with him? not your brightest idea.

bad romance: you get sandwiched between popstar!gojo & his best friend of a bassist, suguru geto.

★ — SUKUNA RYŌMEN.

knock(her)out: you get shared between two boxers before their big match.

ପ thirsts ଓ

★ — SATORU GOJO.

throat goat.

that’s what i thought.

thats what i thought boy.

lip gloss poppin.

super soaker.

suck a what.

★ — FUSHIGURO TOJI.

jealousy jealousy.

want you back.

thinkin’ bout you.

tease me please me.

talk you through.

want a taste.

hate me fuck me.

talk to me nice.

soft with you.

★ — SUGURU GETO.

no talking.

just a brat.

wear my hoodie.

my pretty girl.

★ — CHOSO KAMO.

my love mine all mine.

draw me, do me.

that’s a good girl.

want your taste.

get humbled.

vampire choso.

sharing is caring

good boy.

missed you.

stuck in the middle.

edge me baby.

can’t take it.

★ — SUKUNA RYŌMEN.

said it’s her first time.

remember your safe word.

give me one more.

twos better than one.

tease me please me.

stretch me baby.

kinda kinky.

wanna please you.

lick me up.

★ — NANAMI KENTO.

can’t live without you.

do i pass?

test me.

give me more.

my messy girl.

★ — HIGURUMA HIROMI.

on call.

nose rider.

love me harder.

relax for me.

my girl.

★ — YUKI TSUKUMO.

let me be your woman.

sharing is caring.

stuck in the middle.

★ — HAKARI KENJI.

fill me up.

too flexible.

slip n slide.

★ — SHIU KONG.

on the hood.

★ — SHOKO IEIRI.

down on me.

© 2023-2024 SCREAMPIED. please do not copy, modify, or translate my work. all rights are rightfully reserved to me.

#★vegaslists.

[irndad]

won't you be my sunshine-a.h.

a/n: runner!hotch x sunshine!reader !! sooooo fluffy, first hotch fic of mine so be gentle with me! lots of pining and happy end <3 happy to continue with these two in an au!

Aaron Hotchner is not a particularly emotive man. 

This is a skill he has honed, a cherished quality that was not born of luck or of natural ability, but a skill that he has honed down to a fine tip point. He needs to be, in this job. It’s cost him things, of course, but for the most part, Aaron is happy with his choices. He takes a firm line with people he works with, and does not always let up in his personal life.

The only time this sometimes causes a hitch, is in his romantic life.

Which isn’t to say that he has one. 

There is a woman who reads in the park every morning. Aaron affectionately thinks of this bench as her bench, as it is marked by wisterias and hyacinths on either end of it. It’s something of a ritual, after his runs, that they talk. 

It’s fun. He doesn’t have a lot of space for fun. He’d collapsed on the bench one day after siphoning his anger at a particular case into a difficult run. He’d crashed onto the bench, sweaty and exhausted and hadn’t even seen her there. Which is a bit impressive, as she’s hard to miss the sight of. It is also in equal measure embarrassing. It’s not every day you collapse in front of a gorgeous woman, disturbing her from what is likely a lovely afternoon in the park.

That’s how it started, anyway. She doesn’t run, so each break is punctuated by her company. He’s actually not sure if they’re flirting. He’s not very good at that- the last time he has to he was 17 and so full of unearned confidence, he lucked into a partnership. 

Now, he’s a bit older and a lot more scarred. She’s younger than him, not by much. She laughs with her whole chest at his dry, glib humor- and this is something Aaron had forgotten. The joy of a beautiful, wonderful woman’s company beside you. 

He feels a little out of place next to her. Romance is not something he does. Ever thought he’d do again, really. That’s not to say that this is romance. Their romance is almost entirely hypothetical. He thinks of her at work, which is a monumental development in and of itself. 

“So, how was the paperwork? I know you’ve been taking a little more on since your colleague had a baby. It’s so kind of you to do it.” She asks him on a beautiful August morning. 

He fights off a blush that she remembers what he’s done for JJ. He’s not big on mentioning his own good deeds. Aaron believes that this would cancel it out. Still, her praise is a warm balm to the exhaustion that plagues him. It’s hedonistic, the way he wants her to say more about him. He wonders absentmindedly if she knew everything about him that’s hard to love, she’d still paint him with such a light and warm glance. She’s bright enough, he’s tempted to tell her everything about him just because she asks. 

“It was…alright. My team is excellent. I’m lucky to work with people like them, it makes the process better. I couldn’t ask for more.”

She giggles a little at this, and there’s that roar of affection. 

He feels a sense of ease around her, one that is suspicious for him. He tries not to romanticize, but this connection is hard not to. She’s beautiful- this is obvious to anyone who meets her, a simple truth of her. But Aaron is trained to notice things little factors that show the truth of someone. 

He likes to watch her- it’s a pleasant thing, getting to be in her presence. It’s a little addicting, the way she looks at him. It makes him feel like all of the things he knows to be true of himself- his relative failures, the closed-off nature of his demeanor- are things that not only can be overlooked, but don’t seem to be in her line of sight at all. It’s an honor, to have her doe eyes rake over the sight of him, to meet him with gentle conversation. 

He tries not to notice that she is gorgeous. Aaron has been around beautiful women, of course- this is not something that should surprise him. But there’s something effervescent about her, something that his him wondering if it’s possible that she might feel the same way about him. He knows that he used to be a more attractive man, but now. Well, he’s a bit bruised, both metaphorically and physically. 

It feels odd to even think of this happening. She’s just got a warm, sweet tone and he replays what it’s like when she greets him. She smiles her brilliant grin and sometimes hugs him. It’s embarrassing how much he likes the feeling of it- soft curves against hard muscle and scarred skin. She always smells wonderful, and he wonders how nice it would be to have more of this. 

“I like your new shirt, by the way.” She smiles at him, and his heart jumps. It feels juvenile, but- she’s wearing a new lipstick, it seems. Her beautiful pout looks awfully tempting. 

“I like the lip color,” he tries to compliment back amenably, but that doesn’t stick. Instead, it comes out too earnest. He’s hyper aware of the fact that she’s right by him. She flushes, and Aaron feels a surge of pride. 

“Thank you,” she says, voice softer and flattered, and isn’t that a pretty sound? He’d love to do that for her, make her feel seen, make her feel like she’s as beautiful as she is, “I thought you might like it.”

It’s her directiveness that breaks the seal, he supposes looking back. Because she wore the lipstick for him. That’s just about the only thing it can mean, and he is struck with a particularly sensory fantasy of what it would be like to slot his mouth against hers- he gets the feeling it might be worth it even if he gets the color on his mouth. 

He’s a gentleman, though, he decides after a decidedly ungentlemanly amount of time spend staring at the gorgeous curve of her lips. 

“Would you want to get dinner with me?” He hears himself say it before he’s processed it, and then it’s out into the world. His heart is hammering and he’s blaming on the run, when god, it’s absolutely about how breathtaking she looks, the sunlight reflecting off her hair like a halo. When she beams back at him, she looks particularly angelic. 

It’s then, she leans over and kisses him on the cheek. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

(Months later, when she is sitting on his kitchen counter and he is standing between her legs, gazing down at her with unabated fondness because he is entitled to that, he reflects on this moment and thinks god, how lucky am I, that I ran past that bench?) 

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner imagines #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner blurbs #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch fluff #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotch fic #hotch #hotch x reader #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #ssa aaron hotchner #agent hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fic

[atlabeth]

pretty boy

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: spencer walks in one day with a new look. you handle it pretty well.

a/n: im in the opposite of a writing slump right now (will prob fall into a writing slump right after i say this) probably because im procrastinating on essays for school and i can only write when im meant to be doing work. but tiny little fluffy spencer one shots are very good for the soul right now. i think it's my way of healing from my hotch fic

wc: 1.8k

warning(s): one slightly sexual joke from emily. all fluff

You usually don’t get to the office this early, but you don’t exactly have a choice. The BAU’s last couple cases have all run one after another, barely leaving you any time in the office, and now you’re paying for it. 

You’ve got a mountain of paperwork to get through and not nearly enough time to do it all—if you’re lucky, you’ll be writing reports for a few days straight. If you’re not, you’ll be putting in some overtime.  

“This is the most focused I’ve ever seen you this early,” Derek comments. 

You shake your head with a sigh. “These reports are government mandated torture.” 

He chuckles, and he nods at Emily as she walks over to her desk. “Are you this busy?” 

She shakes her head. “I’ve still got a report to get through, but nothing that bad.” 

“I get it,” you say wryly. “You’re all more organized than me. Just don’t come to me asking to go out tonight—you know I can’t say no.” 

“But don’t shots taste better when you’re supposed to be doing work?” Derek asks, and you roll your eyes with a laugh. 

“Not when I’ve got this much work I’m supposed to be doing.” 

You hear the elevator ding and glance up—Spencer’s walking through and fixing his tie. You look back down at your report as you greet him. 

“Hey, Spence,” you call. “Why’re you late?” 

“I’m not late,” he says, and you can see him checking his watch out of your peripherals. “I’m two minutes and thirty-three seconds early.” 

“Really?” you muse. “I guess I’m just so used to you being here before me.” 

“You can’t judge my timeliness on yours when you’ve been here for an hour already,” Spencer says. 

You frown, tapping your pen against the paper. “How do you know?” 

“You’re settled in already. Your coat’s on your chair, your stack of unfinished files is smaller than it was last time we were in the office, your coffee isn’t steaming, and your mug has a chipped handle—when they were put away last night, that one was set in the front, so you’d have to be here early to get it.” 

“Touche,” you murmur. You’re not sure why you ever ask your team of profilers how they know something. 

“You also look like you don’t want to be here,” he comments. “That’s pretty typical of agents who have to be here before their regular hours.” 

You chuckle and tilt your head in admission. You don’t really want to be here, especially running on so few hours of sleep. 

“Why aren’t you as early as usual?” Emily asks. 

“My neighbor knocked on my door this morning to ask me for something,” Spencer says. “It threw off my whole routine. I picked the wrong tie, I couldn’t pack my bag properly, and I had to toast my bagel for two minutes instead of three and a half to make it out in time.” 

“How terrible,” Derek says with mock austerity. 

“It is terrible!” he exclaims. “It’s scientifically proven that a morning routine makes you happier, more energized, and ready to seize the day—carpe diem.” Spencer sets his bag on the floor next to his desk and looks at everyone else with a smile. “Did you know that phrase was actually coined by the Roman poet Horace in his Odes? It comes from the first book out of four in the eleventh poem—the full phrase in Latin is carpe diem, quam mini—”

“How was your bagel?” Emily asks to interrupt him, and he pauses. 

“It was good,” he says. “Could’ve been toastier.” 

You look up, a teasing remark on the edge of your tongue, but the words die in your throat when you actually see him. 

Spencer’s started combing a hand through his hair to fix it—must have been another part of his affected morning routine—his lips set in a pout as he tries to see his reflection in his dark monitor. He always looks good, even without trying, but now—

“You’re wearing glasses,” you say dumbly. 

“My contacts dried out,” he grumbles, still focused on his hair. “We got home so late last night I forgot to put them in their solution, and I had no time to fix them because my neighbor messed up my whole morning.” 

You nod, still unable to tear your eyes away from him. “Are you gonna keep wearing them?” 

“I don’t know. Contacts are better for cases because I’m not worried about them falling off or fogging up, but I usually sleep on the jet on the way back, and sleeping with contacts in isn’t good.” He smiles a bit as he fully turns to you, seemingly satisfied with his hair. “It reduces the amount of oxygen that gets to your cornea, which damages the cornea’s surface and makes it harder to regenerate new cells. Sleeping with contacts actually makes you six to eight times more likely to get an eye infection.”

You nod again, your brain still not quite working at full power. You always love listening to Spencer’s fact dumps—it gives you a lot of material to impress your non-BAU friends with on the side, and you’re eternally thankful for that—but right now, you seriously cannot focus. 

You’d never really thought about him in glasses, but that’s probably a good thing if this is how it makes you feel. 

You were valedictorian as an undergrad, and you received stellar feedback from your professors during your masters program. You’re an excellent profiler, a valued member of the BAU, and you’re a goddamn FBI agent. 

And yet you can’t find a single thought in your head because your coworker showed up to work wearing glasses. 

He’s still rambling about other common causes of eye infection and how nobody seems to take them as seriously as they should, when Derek, not even trying to hide his grin at your turmoil, speaks up.  

“Reid. Wanna cool it a bit?” 

Spencer’s eyes dart over to him for a moment before he stops. “Uh— sorry.” He frowns as he looks back at you. “Why do you ask? Do you not like them?” 

“No,” you blurt out, and you shake your head a multitude of times. “No. They look great. You look great. They’re—” You dig your nails hard into your palm as you try your hardest to smile like normal, and this time you nod. “They’re good, Spence.” 

“Thanks.” Spencer does that little smile-nod combo of his, and he pushes his glasses back into place with his thumb by the bottom of the frames. “That’s nice to know I’ve got another option.” 

You thank whatever god may be out there that Hotch and Penelope are busy in their offices and JJ is busy with some other case, because you think you would die if anyone else saw you like this. 

“Hey, Reid,” Emily says, also not doing a very good job of hiding her amusement. You hate your team sometimes. “They’re almost out of sugar in the breakroom. If you want coffee the way you like it this morning, you should probably get in there.” 

“What?” Spencer shoots up, his brows already furrowing into a frown. “That— that’s ridiculous. I can’t mess up my morning any more.” 

“You’d better get in there, then,” she remarks. 

“We’re an entire office of agents running on coffee,” Spencer complains as he starts walking. “How are we almost out of sugar?” 

“Because half of ‘em drink it black,” Derek says, and Spencer shakes his head with a sigh as he leaves. 

“That’s ridiculous.” 

You bury your head in your hands the moment he’s gone and Derek laughs. “I wish I could’ve gotten that on video.” 

“Don’t talk to me,” you groan. “It is not fair of him to walk in like that.” 

“And that is why I call him pretty boy.”

“He needs them to see,” Emily says with amusement as she leans against the side of your desk. “You just can’t control yourself.” 

“I need to transfer offices,” you say, shaking your head. “I can’t do this.” 

“You should ask him out!” Derek encourages. “He’d probably say yes.” 

“Absolutely not,” you insist. “I doubt he likes me like that. A— and even if he does, that’s the last thing either of us need right now.” 

“I don’t know,” Emily muses. “It looks like you clearly need something.” 

You let out a frustrated noise as you screw your eyes shut. “I’m doomed.” 

You hear Spencer say your name, and when you look over at him, one hand still pressed against your head, you see he’s got two cups of coffee in his hands. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” you say weakly. “I’m great. Why?” 

“I got you one too,” he says, holding one of the mugs out to you. “The one you have is probably cold by now, and it looks like you need an extra kick to get through all those reports.” 

“Thanks, Spence. That’s sweet.” He nods as you take the proffered mug, and you swear your cheeks are as warm as the coffee. He is really testing your strength today. 

“You— you have a lot,” he says, and you huff a dry laugh and nod. “I’m not trying to be sarcastic. I could take half of them if you want?” 

Your grip tightens on the mug and you can feel Derek’s eyes on you. “I couldn’t make you do that, Spence.” 

“You’re not!” Spencer exclaims. “I can get through mine really quickly—we worked together for almost the whole last case so I can do all of that anyways.” 

“...You’re sure it wouldn’t be an imposition?” 

“I’m sure,” he nods. “Besides, I offered. I wouldn’t if I didn’t want to.” 

And god damn him, because he nudges his glasses back into place again, pushes a strand of loose hair back into place. You’re dying over here. 

You set the mug of coffee on your desk and pick up the top half of your pile. “All yours, Spence.” 

He takes the bottom half and smiles at you, and you smile back before he walks back to his desk. You are dying over here. 

“Let me know how I can pay you back,” you say, and he shakes his head. 

“You don’t need to pay me back.” 

“Really?” 

Spencer nods. “I mean, Morgan invited us all out on the jet last night, and I don’t think I can do it alone. If you can get out of the office in time, I don’t have to. I think that's enough of a payback.” 

“Yeah,” you say. “I’ll be there.” 

He smiles again and nods, then he picks up a pen and focuses in. You turn back to your desk, your face burning. 

“What was that about him not liking you like that?” Derek says. 

“Quiet!” you whisper-yell, swatting him with the pile of files in your hand. “He might hear you!” 

“He’s not hearing anything while he’s focused on that,” he says. “That just means you can ogle him more.” 

You groan again, letting your forehead fall into your palm. “I’m pathetic.” 

“I think you’re right.” Emily chuckles as she stands up. “You are doomed.” 

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fluff #x reader #sadie writes

[heartless-tate]

Notice me! | Azriel X Freader

summary; Azriel courting an oblivious reader.

a/n; Heyy! Just a little fic of being courted by Azriel. And you not being very aware of it. Hope you enjoy!

content/trigger warnings; knife, food, meat?, cussing, kissing, no use y/n, hint towards lust feeling, Azriel pining, Armen being sassy, FEM reader (if you’d like me to make a another post with male reader, message me!) she/her pronouns for reader, thunderstorm mention and I think that’s it. If I missed something, feel free to message me on it! 💝

word count: 3.1k. |. Part two

A plate clattered against the table causing your attention to turn to the man in front of you.

You met his gaze as he waited for you to try his new dish, his eyes seeming to shine as the sun hit his eyes. You swear he always seemed to be effortlessly beautiful. It was angering in some ways, you had even seen him wake up looking like a god. No. Better than a god. It didn’t matter if you spent an hour in the mirror, swiping various products of different expenses on your face; the result would be the same. The same boring face you saw everyday.

A wonderful smell wafted from the plate, causing your empty stomach to growl loud enough to shake the mountains. The shadowsinger smirked, pushing the plate of food closer to you with a gentleness most men didn’t have. Your face flushed with embarrassment, your hands instinctively coming to paw at your stomach, hoping it would stop. Your eyes wandered down to the plate where a meal sat.

“I haven’t made this before. I wanted you to be the first to try it.” He spoke with every ounce of grace and elegance a god would have. His hands grasped the seat across from you, pulling it out and taking a seat. His wings shifted until finding a comfortable position in the chair. You nodded in response, picking the fork up before taking in the rather- gracious portion of food he had made for you.

A ribeye steak bigger than your hand sat on the plate. Seasoning of different kinds were smothered on it, and the smell of butter consumed your senses. Your mouth watered in response. Beside it were two sides. Your favorites.

Armen smirked from where she sat beside you, watching as you lifted the steak knife and fork. You were so oblivious. She had been watching for the last few years as Azriel desperately chased after you, and you never seemed to even notice. It was amusing. He has spent hours staring at you, and you never realized. And if she pointed it out, you just assumed you had something on your face. She knew he was growing restless. Not tired of you, but tired of your complete oblivion. These days he seemed ready to scream from the top of the roof that he loved you.

Azriel’s scarred hand clutched at your wrist. He gently took the knife and fork away from you, before grabbing your plate and proceeding to cut your steak into bite sized pieces. Armen snickered from where she sat, resulting in a glare from Azriel.

“Oh- Azriel I can do that-“ You started.

“I know you can.” He responded. He didn’t give back your plate until your steak was cut into bite sized pieces for you. He watched you place the first bite of steak into your mouth.

Your eyes rolled back and you let out a hum of approval, chewing the food. The flavor was delicious, and it was quite easily the best steak you had ever tasted in your life. It wasn’t too buttery. Or too seasoned. It was just right. The meat was tender.

Azriel’s wings rustled at your hum. His face shined with pure male pride. His eyes never left you once while you chewed and swallowed. He stood, taking the steak knife that was no longer needed into the kitchen.

Armen followed after him. He sat the knife in the sink, letting the house do its magic before turning his attention to Armen.

“You’re like a love sick puppy.”

“My love life isn’t your business.” Azriel responded, his face tight. His words were low, ensuring you couldn’t hear.

“Hm. All I’m saying is your ‘courting’ isn’t going to work.” Armen said, picking at her nail leisurely. She was like a cat. Her piercing eyes watched as Azriel’s eyes narrowed at her with a scowl. Before he could comment more, Armen spoke again.

“She’s oblivious. It doesn’t matter if you fix her food, or leave her favorite pastries everywhere so she finds them, she won’t get the hint. Literally. I’m getting seasonal allergies from the amount of flowers you’ve left for her everywhere in this house.Seriously, this place is covered in flowers. Either start professing love or drop this little crush.” She growled out, walking out of the kitchen.

Azriel stayed silent before whispering,“It’s not little.”

“Yeah, don’t let me forget to grab a few early starfall gifts.” Mor said. You groaned loudly, rubbing your temples. Even the idea of her gifts made you want to cry. Her starfall gift for you these past few years have been a collection of ridiculously fuzzy socks. Every.Year.

Of course you were grateful, but everyone knew Mor’s gifts weren’t particularly good. You now had a drawer filled with fuzzy and odd colored socks.

Velaris was bustling today. Fae of all kids roamed the streets, some tending to their shops. Kids ran through the streets playing games. Everyone was out enjoying the sunny day. You and Mor decided to go shopping to pick up a few items. Your eyes wandered back down to your list, a few more candles, a book or two, and some lotion.

“Starfall gifts? I don’t think you need to shop this early for them-“

“Nonsense! It’s never too early to do gift shopping!” Mor said, cutting you off. You sighed and shook your head knowing it was hopeless to argue with her.

After a few trips to some stores, you both ended up getting lunch at Rita’s. You ordered a milkshake- apparently a new creation of a cold drink? None less, whatever they were, everyone had been going crazy over them in Velaris. And of course you also got your favorite meal. Mor ordered practically half the menu, content to eat her heart out. You didn’t blame her- food was good.

As your plates were sat down by the waitress, Mor eyed your food with a questioning look. Your eyebrows raised in confusion. “What? You’re looking at my food weird.”

“Oh. Well I’m just surprised to see you ordering a meal here. You know Azriel is gonna harp if you don’t eat his food.” Mor responded, shoveling food into her mouth as if she’d starve.

“Huh?” You countered.

Mor finished her food before rolling her eyes. She sighed deeply as if you had troubled her. “You know..” she said, waving her hands as if that would solve your confusion. When you raised your eyebrows with a puzzled face, she put her fork down.

“You know- when you eat something someone else cooked or you’re not hungry, and he’s cooked you a meal. And you refuse it- he gets all huffy and puffy! Like a broody motherhen.” She continued.

“He doesn’t even fix me food that often-“ you argued.

“Oh please! Breakfast, lunch, and dinner! Full course meal on the table for you. If only someone loved me that much.” Mor said, picking her fork back up. “Those meals weren’t from the house hun. All I’m saying is maybe you should pay more attention.”

For the rest of the meal, you both sat in silence as you pondered over her words.

Cassian laughed  as you entered from the hallway. His eyes shined with amusement as you waddled to the counter with your shopping bags.

The sound was enough to draw a curious Azriel to the room. He immediately grabbed all your bags despite your complaints, setting them on the table. He nodded at you in response when you thanked him.

“I thought you were only shopping for a few things.” Cassian stated. He stood casually leaned against the table with a drink in his left hand. Azriel stood to your left, his wings expanded. His eyes were keen and watchful. You doubted he ever missed a single detail. His skin glistened with sweat, a musky bourbon scent coming from him. Cassian’s skin was sweaty too, evidence of them training together earlier in the day.

“Well, the candle store had a buy two get five for free deal. So I bought  four and got ten for free! Cauldron I love Velaris!” You squealed, and Azriel smirked knowingly. He had taken note of your recent obsession with buying candles. Cassian shook his head.

Cassian's face lit up with surprise as you handed him two candles. “So I got one for everyone else. This one smells like leather and the other vanilla. I figured you’d like it Cas.” You continued. He nodded in thanks. You turned to Azriel.

“I got you this candle because I know you love blueberries. And this one is supposed to smell like rainy days and lightning. And this one is books and bourbon!”

Azriel’s eyes never looked down to the candles you had shoved in his arms. His eyes stayed on your face as you happily ranted about the candles. When you finished and looked back up to his face, he had a soft look. It was one you don’t think you’ve seen him use before. His eyes were soft and looked like pools of honey, and his smile was gentle.

You watched as he sat down the candles on the table and turned back to you. “They’re perfect.” He responded. He was so memorizing. You just knew whoever he ended up with would be content. You struggled taking your eyes from him.Cassian growled playfully.

“Hey! Unfair! He got three candles! I only got-“

Cassian was cut off by Mor smacking him on the back of the head as she trotted to the kitchen. She had a lot of leftovers to put away. Azriel gave him a quick glare, silencing him.

You noticed he was wearing all his leathers, and siphons. His shadows whirled leisurely around his shoulders and wings. Azriel watched as your eyes creased in confusion. He sighed. He couldn’t help but feel a shimmer of hope at the fact you had gotten him more candles than Cassian.

“Rhysand sent me on a mission, I’ll be gone for a few days most likely. I’m going to spy on the human queens and make sure all is well there.” He admitted. He watched as your face fell. You quickly smiled again and nodded. His heart thumped like a hammer in his chest. Did you care? Would you miss him like he always missed you? He wondered if you couldn’t sleep like he couldn’t when he was away from you.

“Oh. I see. Be safe.” You responded, nodding slowly. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the feeling in your chest. You had never felt it before. You wondered why all of a sudden you felt this way about him leaving.

His eyes softened even more. “I leave in an hour or two.” He whispered, head tilting to catch your eyes once more. Cassian had disappeared from the room all of a sudden, him and Mor talking loudly about dumb things in the kitchen. Leaving you and Azriel alone. “Let me cook you dinner before I leave.”

His eyebrows furrowed this time as you shook your head no. His smile dropped. He looked like a kicked puppy almost-

“I ate lunch with Mor.” You explained. Your explanation didn’t seem to comfort him as he shook his head in response.

“That was lunch. It’s time for dinner.” Azriel said firmly.

Your mind went back to Mor’s words. Pay more attention…what did she mean? What was there to pay attention to? Azriel cooked for everyone- right..? Your mind raced over your memories, trying to think of a single time you had seen Azriel set a plate down for one of the others.

“Alright then, fix me dinner Azriel.” You responded. Azriel smiled, pleased. His right wing flared, draping over your back. “Follow me.” He said, leading the way into the kitchen. His wing was warm against your back, as it guided you beside him. It was much larger than  you were, towering over your head. As you entered the kitchen, Cassian and Mor immediately scampered out shouting something about extra training.

You watched Azriel move around the kitchen in a graceful dance of grabbing pans and pots. He kept his wings tucked in, to keep them from banging against counters and tables. His hair was messy from training, or like he had ran his hands through it more then once. But it never failed to frame his face. You watched as a few shadows dart around, grabbing various spices and ingredients for whatever new dish he’d make tonight. He set a pan down on the stove before turning to you.

His scarred hands gently grasped your hips, lifting you up effortlessly. He sat you on an empty space on the counter. He huffed a laugh at your squeak of shock. He patted one of your thighs gently before leaving your side and returning to his pan.

Your face flushed with embarrassment. He had lifted you as if you weighed nothing, showcasing his obvious strength. Everytime he touched you with his beautiful hands, it felt like everything stopped. As if the world had slowed to let you enjoy the moment. Your hands wrapped around your stomach, wondering what this weird feeling that had overcome you meant.

He moved swiftly, chopping ingredients and throwing things in various pots and pans. You quickly realized by smell alone he was making your comfort food. You remembered the night a storm had rolled in. Usually thunder and lightning didn’t scare you- but this was different. The booms and flashes were intense, shaking the ground and keeping you from sleep. You had stumbled to the house library in an attempt to distract yourself. But you only found Azriel instead. He had scented your obvious distress and took action immediately. He helped you settle on the couch with cushions and blankets before asking what a comfort food was. A good 15 minutes later he returned with a plate.

You don’t remember much pass that, you just remember becoming tired and sleepily. You remember feeling warm all of a sudden and then you woke up in your bed that morning.

“It’s almost done.” Azriel spoke, bringing you back from your memories. His eyes were distant as if he too was remembering that same night.

You smiled and thanked him as he handed you your bowl and a spoon. He made himself a bowl too. He took your bowl from his hands and sat it down, before grabbing you and setting you back on the floor. His hands stayed on your hips until he was sure you were balanced. He guided you to the sitting room with a fire.

Azriel didn’t eat until you took your first bite, ensuring you liked it. And of course, you did. It was warm, and comforting, like a hug in your mouth. It soothed your soul in ways nothing else could, the flavors easing your body from any previous aches. Azriel had never made a bad meal before. You both ate in silence together, with the comforting crackle of the fire and warming food. But as the time passed, you knew it came time for him to leave.

Your bowls sat on the coffee table. Both finished. The house made them disappear, taking care of them on its own. You were always amazed by its magic.

Your head snapped to Azriel as he stood. He sighed, looking at the clock on the wall. His eyebrows were furrowed and he almost looked like he wanted to chain himself to the wall before even considering leaving. He turned to your sitting form. His shadows seemed to move more quickly and sharper around his shoulders.

“It’s time for me to leave.” He whispered. He watched as you nodded solemnly. You smiled, but he knew it didn’t reach your eyes.

“Thank you for the meal.”

You watched as Cassian hugged Azriel in goodbye, and Mor nod as her own way of saying goodbye. Azriel had taken his candles to his room earlier, before joining everyone in the hallway. When one left for more then a day, you all said proper goodbyes.

Azriel turned to you, walking swiftly. His arms wrapped around you tightly, his big biceps practically squeezing the life out of you. He practically had to hold himself back from purring when your arms wrapped around his neck in return. Everything darkened as his wings cocooned you. His wings blocked out the noises of the others, leaving just you and him. His head found solace in your neck. His scent overwhelmed your senses in a good way. Before you had time to question Azriel being touchy, Cassian yelled,

“Ok! Ok! We get it, Azriel. Let go of her before you suffocate her.”

Azriel lifted his head, and his wings dropped. His eyes stayed latched on yours. A few seconds passed before he tore his eyes away and scowled at Cassian. His teeth bared in silent warning. Cassian backed down and turned to have conversation with the others. Azriel released you from his grip.

“I’ll be back soon. Don’t starve. And I left some flowers on your nightstand. I hope you don’t mind.” He whispered to you, fiddling with his hands like a nervous school boy. Your eyes lit up and you smiled gently.

“Thank you Azriel. Goodbye.” You whispered back in response. His smile turned upside down.

“I told you, call me Az. Or whatever you want- just not my full name. We’re closer than that.” He said in a growl like tone. He watched as you nodded your head.

It was time for him to leave now. He sighed deeply. The others had gone silent watching the scene with interest. But he didn’t seem to care.

He leaned down to your height, his hands grasping at your chin. He turned your head before leaving a gentle but firm kiss on the side of your cheek. “Sleep well tonight.” He whispered before pulling away. You stood in shock at the door to the balcony, as he said his last goodbyes. He waved in an almost shy way at you before taking flight.

You stood still, flabbergasted at what had happened. Slowly your hand rose to your cheek.

Realization dawned on you- he hadn’t ever fixed food for anyone else other than you.

a/n; hope you enjoyed, let me know if you want part two! 🌙

#azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel acotar #acotar 5 #acosf #imagine #azriel x reader angst #x reader #female reader #fem reader #reader insert