prettybubblesintheair

[prettybubblesintheair]

[prettybubblesintheair]

Christmas Grump

Summary: Walter has hated the holidays for many years, much to your chagrin. But this year you've got an idea to soften him towards Christmas.

A/N: Written for @the-slumberparty's December Daze Challenge.

Prompt: you hate the holidays and i love them.

Warnings: None. Please let me know if I missed any!

Walter has been on the force for long enough that he knows to expect the worst around the holidays. Good will towards mankind? Bah, humbug. He knows better. Christmas time is when the worst of the worst comes to the surface and he hates every moment of it.

You've been determined to temper his grumpiness at the holidays pretty much since the day you met, back when his beard barely had any greys to it. Unfortunately, Walter was just about as stubborn as you.

At the very least Walter didn't try to stop you from celebrating. You'd decorate the entire house, except for his office. And goodness knows he never complained about the extra baking you did this time of year. He could be the biggest baby about making sure he got "his share" of all the cookies and treats you made for the department. Some of his friends joked about him practicing for the role of Santa with how many cookies he would eat but he never let it get to him.

In truth, he had been warming to the Christmas holiday since you came into his life, but it was hard for him to still appreciate the moments in comparison to the years of holiday trauma he'd seen. It was actually one of the reasons he insisted on going shopping with you during this time of year. He could see your joy at the lights, the gift ideas, the cutesy holiday paraphernalia and he could keep you safe. More times than you knew he'd silently warned off someone who looked like trouble just by glaring at them. As much as he wished you'd pay better attention to your surroundings, he was very grateful you didn't see the world like he did.

Meanwhile you appreciated that he would go shopping with you because he could carry the heavy stuff and it gave you access to his big truck!

"You're sticking with me, right, big guy?"

Walter rolls his eyes, "in spite of my better judgment, yes."

You chuckle and playfully slap his arm, "such a grumpy old man!"

"I'm not that old."

"How old is Faye again?"

"Too old," Walter shakes his head. His daughter was attending college already and Walter was suddenly feeling his age.

You kiss his bearded cheek to distract him. "Well I, for one, think you've aged like fine wine. You're even more handsome than when we first met."

He snorts in disbelief, but lets himself smile at the compliment.

You're almost done with your shopping list. They didn't have the canned mandarin oranges for the cranberry relish, but you can do quick checks for them until it's time to start the cooking. Maybe they'll have the snack cups of them in stock if you run low on time.

Looking at the remaining few items on your list you stop to hype up Walter. "Okay, Walter, we're about to go into the toys section." He groans. "Hey, hey, hey, we're going to get through this. It'll be okay! We're just gonna get in, get a bunch of stuff for the toy drives, and get out. Right?"

"Right," he sighs.

"That was weak sauce, Walter! You can do better!" You cheer him on with a playful punch to the arm.

"Right," he repeats, more firmly.

"That's better! Let's do this! You keep close to me and watch my signals for when to stop, when to turn and when to get the hell out."

"Right!" he high fives you before you lead him into the overcrowded toy section.

Walter is on high alert. He's seen what happens when two or more parents fight over the latest popular toy.

You signal a few turns, wasting no time in grabbing some items specifically requested by the people running the toy drives. The bulk of toys donated were for kids between the ages of 3 and 11 so you made sure to go for the toys outside of those age ranges. Some baby chew toys, infant mirrors, board books and the like for the youngest ones. Sports equipment, sketch books, makeup kits and the like for the older ones.

Walter was helping you get some hockey sticks into the over-packed cart when you were both interrupted by a cry of "SANTA!" Suddenly Walter feels a weight around his leg and, as he looks down, he sees a toddler holding onto him like a baby koala.

"Hello," he says to the toddler. "Can I help you with something?"

The toddler looks up, eyes wide with wonder. "I got wost. Mama says 'no talk to stwangers' but you Santa! You can he'p me!"

Walter's eyes immediately soften and he effortlessly picks up the kid. "Are you here at the store with your Mama?" They nod their head yes. "Can you tell me what she looks like?"

"She's pwetty," they answer.

"I'm sure she is," Walter says with a smile. He turns to you, "do you think you can get to the customer service? Ask them to send out an APB, or whatever they do, for a parent missing their child?" You nod and get moving, hearing Walter say, "how about I put you on my shoulders and you can look for her?"

It takes you a few minutes but you're finally able to find an associate to help out. They send out a notice over their walkie-talkies and you take them back to where you left Walter. You have to fight the urge to coo when you see the large, grey-haired, bearded man with a toddler on his shoulders. You and the associate show up just as the toddler starts pointing and yelling "Mama!"

It takes a bit to calm down both Mama and toddler. Your heart swells to see Walter in his element, taking care of others. It's one of the reasons you fell so hard for him. He is a very kind, caring person who genuinely wants to help others. But he needs someone who can take care of him so he can keep going. You're happy to be that person.

As they little family goes off, the toddler waves, "bye Santa! T'ank you!"

Walter's smile widens and you can't resist, "so when can I start calling you 'Santa'?"

He gives you a stern look. "Never."

"I dunno, I think that kid was on to something," you tease.

"No."

"I mean, the beard, the big build, getting toys for kids..."

Walter grabs you and growls into your ear, "be careful you don't end up on the naughty list."

"I wouldn't mind sitting on your lap," you giggle. He takes a breath and you can feel his body stiffen at the mental images. "But, first, we gotta finish shopping. Let's go, Santa!" you playfully yell as you break free and get back to the cart.

You keep laughing as Walter gives you a look that promises a delightful punishment for your behavior.

Tagging:

@alicedopey; @changenameno; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness;

@kingliam2019; @lokislady82; @peyton-warren; @ronearoundblindly

[prettybubblesintheair]

Austin Butler shaves his head completely bald for caught stealing

[prettybubblesintheair]

“On my honour, you'll never look like that again. You'll never be bruised and the hand that dares to lay a single blemish on you will be cut off,” he nips your skin.

OhMYFGOOOOOSH SHUT UP THAT WAS ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 Bucky MYYYYYYY DARLING BUCKY I LOVE YOU SOOOOOOOOO MUCH 🥰

Absolutely obsessed with thiiiiis 💗💗💗💗💗

Death Wish 12

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Bucky Barnes

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you’re desperate for a way out of your life and you ask a powerful man for help (plus!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Photo Inspo

"Hm, not that one. Dear, I think the last one was it. Perfectly traditional, without being stuffy," Winnifred insists.

You stare at yourself in the mirror. Your pick is everything you prefer. Simple and easy. Not uncomfortable. Not fussy laces or elaborate beading and endless skirts. Just a dress.

Of course, it wouldn't be good enough for a king. Nor his mother. You temper your disappointment. You assume that will need to become a habit. Your opinion, as always, is secondary.

"I suppose it it a bit plain," you agree, "sure. We can go with the last one."

"Are you sure?" Kitty pushes her shoulders up as she slides to the edge of the seat.

"Yes, it's fine," you assure her.

"Congratulations," the associate steps forward. "Shall we get you back in it?"

"No, you can just put in the order," you say. You are in no rush to have her ream on those laces again.

"Of course, you've had a long day," she agrees sheepishly, if not with a hint of surprise. Eight hours is a long day. Too long to spend in a shop. "You should ring the bell. Since you found your dress."

"The bell?" You question then glance over at the other women. "Okay."

The associate flits off and you stand listless in the dress you'll mourn with your previous life. When she returns, she has a big golden bell. She gives you a speech about your happy day and hands it over. You give it a jingle then just as quickly give it back.

"You sure you don't want to try it on again?" Winnifred asks.

You shake your head, "sorry, it's been a long few days."

"Oh, yes, our condolences," Rebecca intones. "Mother, I think Bucky might already have a few words for us for keeping his bride so long already."

"Yes, despite my best efforts, he can be a greedy little boy," Winnifred laughs.

You attempt a smile. You can imagine it's more of a quiver in your lips. Winnifred stands, the other women as well, your sisters hesitant. The three of you are cautiouslt wading through this new world. One where you're no long insignificant. The threat of your father's disapproval has been replaced by a greater one.

You did this. You and your selfish impulsivity. You could excuse yourself for fear or desperation, but you can blame yourself just as much for not thinking out the consequences. Not that you could ever guess they would involve a white gown and diamond ring.

There is some chatter as you are taken back to the lobby. Winnifred attends to the payment as you retreat in embarrassment. Your sisters exchange a none-so-subtle look of concern.

"Well then, girls," the matriarch turns with an accomplished sigh, "allow us to escort you love bridesmaids home." She declares, "I believe you," she stops in front of you and takes your hand, "are due to meet your beloved. Do tell my son I send my tidings. Certainly it won't be long until I might do so myself."

Your sisters stir nervously. You glance at them and nod. Just do what you're told. It's always been the best strategy.

"That's very kind of you,, Winnifred," Kitty speaks first.

"Ah not at all, I should like to see your side of town. I am painfully nosy, though I might paint it as curiousity," she lets you go. "And you might give me some insight into my future daughter. She is rather enigmatic thus far."

You wince. Of course, it all methodical. You claim your jackets and emerge outside. Wanda, Rebecca, and Natasha claim one car, your sisters and Winnifred the next, and another idles as you approach.

The driver comes around and pulls open the door. You hate that. It feels as if you are a puppet on strings. You move to the tugs and tweaks of Barnes' all reaching hand.

You lower yourself onto the seat, peering on ahead of you, and hesitate before you slide in. You don't expect him to be waiting for you there. The door closes as you shift further in. Barnes' takes your hand before you can settle and kisses your knuckle above the ostentatious stone setting.

"Doll," he purrs.

"Barnes," you greet plaintively.

"Ah, you don't gotta be like that," he drawls as he clings to your hand, his thumb feeling the stones.

"Sorry," you nibble your lip. "I'm only tired."

"Yes, I hope you found something," he says. "Ladies and their dresses."

"Mm, yes," you affirm.

He tuts, "you don't sound very excited."

"Not sure I'm fit to wear white..." you mutter.

"Doesn't bother me, doll. We've both lived lives before we met--"

"Not that," you interject, surprisingly yourself at your curtness. "You know why."

He inhales deeply and sighs, "he got all he had coming. We both know that."

"Yes, but it was me...." you trail off and shrug.

You sense him watching you. You stare ahead and swallow down all those confusing emotions. "It's done, I suppose."

"I respect the apathy, doll, but you don't gotta play cool with me," he insists.

"I don't give-- I don't care about him."

He nods and gives a thoughtful im, "your sisters. Have I not proven myself to you? I told you I'd see to them, I'm a man of my word.”

“I believe it,” you resign. “It's… a lot. I don't think I'm what you think. I don't think I can do this.” You slump in defeat. “I'm not what you're looking for. You've made a bad choice.”

“Hmph,” he scoffs. “That you even got the guts to tell me so shows me you're wrong. You don't know how right you are for me, doll.”

He snakes his arm behind you and pulls you close. “Now you're not gonna roll over and show your belly. Not if you're my woman.”

“I'm not…”

“We were both in that warehouse,” he lowers his voice as his fingertips curl into your hip. His other hand brushes over your lap. “You did what needed to be done. Just like today. Just like yesterday. Every step of the way You've shown me exactly what you say you're not.”

“Bucky, I just wanted to be free,” you latch onto his forearm. “That's all–”

“You're free. And safe. You know what I'd do for you, doll? What I'll do to keep you safe? Happy? To keep you mine.” He leans in to nuzzle your cheek, “that's the one thing about me you haven't figured out. I'm stubborn. I put my mind to something and I do it. Exactly what you did when you showed up battered and begging–”

“Please,” you rasp and his nose tickles down your cheek and he dips down to kiss your neck. His lips and beard send a tingle through you.

“On my honour, you'll never look like that again. You'll never be bruised and the hand that dares to lay a single blemish on you will be cut off,” he nips your skin.

The tenor of his voice brooks no doubt nor the tight grip his keeps on your thigh. His hot breath blooms around your neck and he growls. You made a deal with the devil and now he's come to collect.

[prettybubblesintheair]

I’m still here and I still can’t believe she ran HONEEEEEEEY NOOOOOO.

The Assistant 13

Warnings: this fic includes noncon/rape, cheating, creep behaviour, violence, anger. These warnings are not exhaustive and some triggers may not be specified for plot reasons.

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: As an assistant at the Daily Planet, you’re rarely noticed. Until you are.

Characters: Clark Kent

Note: We came back.

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. Thanks to everyone who reads this one and thank you for all your energy.<3

Love you all like Lord Farquaad loves unnecessary vowels. Take care. 💖

🖊🖊🖊

Your new life is more of a death. The old you is dead and can never be again. Not quite a true death, it’s a purgatory you’re slogging through, waiting for the ultimate end. 

Your first days are bleak. The house is filled with a stagnant pall as you wile away the hours playing your role. It’s easier when you pretend you're a character in a book, just like you did as a girl. When you became Elizabeth Bennet or one of the Pevensie kids. You escape in your mind because there is no other way out.

A routine quickly falls into place. You wake up, though sleep is sparse and hewn in wretched nightmares that mirror reality, and wait until Clark stirs. He never rouses very long after you. You open yourself to him, laying on your back, legs splayed as he grunts and ruts.

Tender, you dress in one of the thin dresses he collected for you and you go to work. You cook him breakfast. Sometimes, he takes you back to bed after he eats. Others, he pins you to the counter or the table. Then you clean up; the table, the dishes, and yourself.

When he stays, he sits and reads. You hover around him, busying yourself with a broom or just watching him, weighing the minutes. Not yet, not yet.

Lunch comes and you take care of that too. Then him. His appetite never wavers. The heavy pain sticks in your pelvis but he can’t think the limp is from anything more than the chain tugging at your ankle.

You pace, restless and wait. That’s all you do. Wait. For the first chance or his next whim. Whichever comes before the other.

You stand at the window and watch the wildlife. You feel him watching you in kind. When he leaves, he closes the shutters, latching them tight on the outside. Locking you in like a toy in a chest. A doll he can pick up to play with whenever he likes.

Dinnertime. Another meal. You’re not very hungry but you make yourself eat. If he lets you have a bath, you can puke it back up when he goes to get a towel. That is the last marker of time before bedtime…

Sleep is not won without a final surrender.

That day, as you wrap potatoes to cook in the oven, all noise seems louder, every movement more strenuous. The staleness in the air is suffocating. Your ears buzz from the constant silence. You crinkle the foil around a potato and drop it, rubbing your lobes.

You keep your hands on your ears and stare at the counter. You could scoop out your brains with a spoon. Are you going crazy? Your head feels itchy on the inside and you would be all to happy to scratch right through the bone. 

“Honey?” Clark’s voice ripples through the air. “Is something wrong?”

You close your eyes and cringe. You drag your hands away and wrap the other potato, wincing at the aluminum's raucous wrinkle. He stands and you shudder. He’s coming close.

“It’s too quiet,” you say at last.

He nears and looms beside you. You put the potatoes aside and drag over the pan of marinating steak. His large hand rests on the counter.

“Can I help?” He offers. You shake your head.

“No, thanks, I got it, honey,” you reach to touch his hand. You just want him to back off. Sweat stains your skin as his proximity sets you on fire. 

He leans in to kiss your crown, his hand dancing down your back. He gropes your ass and growls. His hand lingers and you brace yourself. It isn’t unlike him to interrupt.

“Love you,” he grits before he draws away.

You let your breath out in short spurts. You don’t want him to hear the relief in you. Your thighs quiver, bruised and raw. You carry on without pause. Keep yourself busy and he’ll let you be. For now.

🖊

The next day, Clark leaves you. You don’t know what he does when he isn’t there. Sometimes he brings back groceries or little things he’s forgotten. Others, he’s gone for hours and returns only with stress in his shoulders. You try not to think too much about what happens outside these walls, that only makes them close in tighter.

When he comes back, just around lunch time, he presents you a radio. An orange and black radio you’ve seen used by those in remote regions. He sets it on the counter as he flicks it on and adjusts the knob, searching for a station through the crackle. You cross your arms as you watch around his elbow.

The stringy tune comes through and warbles against the static. The music soothes you. You only realise then, you’d never thought you’d hear it again. Clark turns to you as you stare at the speakers.

“Do you like it?” He asks.

You nod and unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth, “yes, thank you.”

Is this all you have? A radio?

“Do you… wanna dance?” He murmurs shyly.

You look at him. You reach for his hand in acceptance. Nothing he gives comes without a price. He takes you into his arms wordlessly, his face brightening as he leads you into a slow shuffle.

‘I bless the day I found you I want to stay around you And so I beg you Let it be me’

The song is older. You’re not sure who it is. By your guess, it’s even older than your parents… you know you won’t see them again. Even if you do get your chance, you can never go back to the life before this.

“I remember the first day I saw you,” Clark says as he pulls your head to rest against his chest, “you were wearing that little pink plaid dress…”

His words hang in the air. You remember the day too. The day you thought you’d figure it all out. You’d pay your dues as an assistant, work your way up to a writer one day, and maybe, in your wildest dreams, an editor…

“I love you, honey,” he pets your head.

“Love you too,” you eke out.

He pulls back to look down at you. You gaze up as he brings his fingertips under your chin. He leans in to kiss you and draws away reluctantly. He hums as his other hand closes around yours.

“Let’s take a bath,” he lets go of you and follows the chain to its end, unhooking it from the loop in the floor. He tugs you after him as he lets the radio play.

You let him take you into the bathroom. He’s intent on his mission. He drops the chain, the links hitting the floor heavily. You stare at it, just for a second, not too long for your heart to spike.

He bends over the tub and cranks the faucet. You watch him, fingers tingling, as he puts in the stop and holds his hand under the water’s flow. Stay calm.

You move closer to him as he undresses. You help him lift his shirt and you pet the soft hair along his torso. He turns to you, that foggy look in his eyes. You bring your hands to his pants and undo them, biting your lip as you hold his gaze.

You pull down his pants and let them fall down his thick legs. You tilt your head at the sudden thought, tweaking your ear towards the music. He reaches to stroke your chin.

“What is it, honey?” He snarls.

“This song,” you stop and listen to The Ronettes' iconic beat, “can I turn it up?”

He rolls his thumb across your chin and exhales, “sure, honey. I like this one too.”

You smile and shift your head, taking his thumb into your mouth. His eyes round as you swirl your tongue around his salty fingertip. You pop your lips off as he sighs.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Mmm, baby,” he breathes.

You turn slowly, measuring your steps and your heartbeat. You go out into the kitchen, the chain rattling with each step. You peer around, taking in the place. You hear the water swish as he lowers himself into the tub. You peek over as the end of the chain trails just outside the bathroom.

You stop by the radio and glance over your shoulder. Now. You turn up the radio, just loud enough. You bend and tug the chain inch by inch towards you, the noise disguised by the drumbeat. You coil it around your hand, allowing enough for you to walk.

You peer over at the bathroom doorway.

“I’ll bring towels,” you call over the music.

“Hurry,” he booms back as he lets out another gritty sigh, “baby, I need you.”

You turn without hesitation. This is it. You march into the front room and to the front door. Of course he wouldn’t lock it, not with the cuff on your ankle hooked to the loop. You glance over at the hook in the floor and steel yourself.

You open the door, lifting it on the hinges to keep it quiet. The radio drones behind you as you let yourself out into the cool air. You take one step, then the other, each one quicker than the last. You approach the trees and take a breath.

It’s now or never.

You plunge into the woods, your gait uneven as you run with the chain yank with each step. You don’t know where you’re going or where to go, you just need to get far away from here. You can’t live like this. You can’t die like this.

Your feet hit the forest floor, unfeeling to the jab of sharp rocks and the scratch of twigs. Don’t look back, just go, just go. You sprint until your lungs burn, until your mouth is parched and scratchy, until your limbs ache.

You stumble onto the ground and gulp. You can’t go any further. You’re too weak.

You shake on your hands and knees, fighting to catch your breath, trying to urge yourself on. 

Then you hear it. A giggle. A chirpish yelp and the splash of water. People? You crawl forward towards the noise. You lift yourself to look over the overturned trunk at the edge of the incline. There’s a lake below, there’s bodies splashing through the waters, screaming and laughing.

Oh, god! You stand and throw your hand up, mustering your strength to cry out. Help!

As you open your mouth, your voice shrivels up as your throat is clamped in a vice. You're dragged back away from the drop off and turned to face your villain. Clark stands naked amid the trees, seeming as towering and thick as any of them, as he grips your neck. He lifts you off your feet, your toes dangling above the ground.

You claw at his forearm as you wheezes. Your eyes well as he glares at you, shaking with rage. The chain falls from your hand and hits the floor, weighing on your ankle. He bears his teeth and hisses.

“Why would you do this?”

You can’t speak. Your head throbs as you reach to bat at his chest, begging silently for him to release you. ‘Sorry…’ you mouth, ‘sorry…’

“I love you, sweetie, I love you so much,” his voice quakes as he squeezes tighter, “why did you do this?”

Your lips open and close as your head swells violently. Your arms feel heavy as you grasp at him desperately. I can do better, I can do better. Just one more chance, honey. Please.

“You’re the one, you’re the one,” he chants tearfully, “I never loved anyone like I love you.”

“Cl-Clark,” you force out, “ple-ease—”

“No,” he crushes your throat so not a single wisp can get through, “I will never… love anyone that way I love you. Never…”

Your cheek twitches as your lashes glazes with tears. Your heart pounds in your chest as your mind swirls. His eyes fill with red light, glowing hotter and hotter. You see yourself in the scarlet glare; you in your tub, reading your favourite novel, that first day at the office when you nervously introduced yourself, your days in school, running between classes, your high school graduation, the little girl dancing in the fields, a princess out of time.

You see it all behind you and you see the emptiness ahead of you. You shake your head above his grip and use the last of your effort to mouth the words to him. The truth.

‘I….’ you make certain the movement is clear, even as your eyes threaten to roll into your skull, ‘hate.’ Your lips twist in a cruel smirk, ‘you.’

Your head lolls and you stare into his glowing irises. You’re ready. This is ever after. 

The world is consumed in a red flash and a striking heat. It sears to the bone and ends just as quickly. All is black and gone. A life burnt to cinder.

Stayed tuned for the epilogue

[prettybubblesintheair]

Death Wish 11

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, violence/abuse and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Bucky Barnes

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you’re desperate for a way out of your life and you ask a powerful man for help (plus!reader)

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Photo Inspo

You feel like a child again. Crammed in the back seat between your sisters. The motion of the car makes you queasy but you’re not so certain it isn’t something else stirring your guts. You’re all silent, as if on your way to another funeral. 

Any other woman might be ecstatic. You can’t feel anything by acidic dread. The weigh on your finger keeps you from forgetting the inevitable. 

Kitty reaches to still you as you twist the oversized band against your chafed finger. You dip your head embarrassed and she holds your hand gently in yours. 

“We will get through it.” Kitty says. 

“We have to,” you say. 

Adrienne hums and jostles you from her side. You must all be thinking of the same thing. This is a day when your mother should be there. One where you miss her deep in your soul. 

The car stops. Barnes’ man opens the door and you get out. You feel like an inmate on some sort of excursion. You have a guard close though you have nowhere to go. You can’t see them but you have shackles around you. 

The dress shop stands in stark contrast to the mood. You enter the ivory lobby and approach the tall counter where a woman stands. She greets you with a smile. There’s a group of women in the cushy chairs nestled between garishly-adorned mannequins. 

You give your name, anxiously swaying. He told you to be here at this time. He ensured you would be by sending the car. 

“Ah, there she is,” a voice rises from the cluster of ladies in the sitting area. “We’ve been waiting.” 

A steely-haired woman rises before the associate behind the counter can confirm your appointment. She approaches with the flock at her back. You face her in surprise, your sisters closing the ranks at your sides. 

“Winnifred Barnes,” the woman introduces herself, “you are the one my son has chosen.” She grabs your hand and shakes it. Her grip is tight. “My daughter, Rebecca,” she lets go of you and gestures to the pretty brunette at her left, “Wanda,” she waves at a blond, “and dear Natasha.” A redhead nods with a stony expression. 

“Oh, hello, ma’am,” you know who she is. Barnes’ own mother; your future in-law. “My sisters--” 

“Adrienne and Kitty,” she addresses them each with a smile and a handshake. “Yes, the three sisters.” She turns her attention back to you, “my regrets your own mother could not be here but when my son told me, I insisted. It isn’t fair of a woman to pick a dress without a maternal shoulder to lean on.” 

“Right,” you agree thinly. “I...appreciate it very much. Thank you for being here.” 

“Did he not tell you?” Rebecca intones from her mother’s shoulder, “typical.” 

“It’s a happy surprise,” Kitty insists. 

Winnifred smiles at her, “entirely correct. We’ve had a bit of a peek around, not going to lie.” 

“Oh, my,” your eyes scan the walls full of ivory, cream, and pearl. “I have to admit, I don’t really know what I’m looking for.” 

“Never worry. You’ve got a dozen other eyes to help you,” Winnifred takes your hand, “they have a room ready for us but we should have a look around first.” She tugs you along as the associate beckons her past the front counter. You let her lead the way. This is all easier if you just let it happen around you. “And your sisters, they will be bridesmaids?” 

“I... yes,” you answer in a hollow tone. You hadn’t even thought of that. It only sinks in at that moment. 

You’re getting married. You’re going to have a full-fledged wedding and you’re going to leave your sisters forever. Your daddy is gone and so is your old life. 

“Why don’t you see what catches your eye?” Winnifred gestures to the wall of fluffy gowns. “We all know the men don’t care what we wear, they’re less concerned with the day and more eager for the night.” 

She cackles and you turn to the hangers of fabric. That’s better than thinking about the implications of the choice. Pick a dress. Whatever one you choose won’t change what comes next. 

“Ladies, you know your mission,” Winnifred claps. She nears you and pulls on puffy piece, “would you look at that? Like a princess.” 

You peek over. It’s too much. The layers and layers, the sequins and lace. Why not one or the other? It’s all too much. You never had to worry about silk or mesh, tulle or chiffon. You wore whatever you had. 

“No, you don’t like it,” she clucks. “A mother always knows.” 

“Sorry,” you murmur and push apart the dresses in front of you. 

You shuffle through, one by one. Too much frill, too sheer, too heavy, too Victorian. You don’t even think you should wear white. It feels like an occasion better suited to black. 

“Pull as many as you like. We have all day. You want options. You never really know what you like until it’s on,” Winnifred advises. 

“Hey,” Kitty calls to you and shows you a dress, “you like this?” 

You look over at your sister as she presents a dress with short sleeves and lacy tiers on the skirt. It’s nice but you’re not sure. 

“I can try it,” you say and turn back. 

You go down the full wall before you find something that gives you pause. There’s nothing special about it. It's plain. Straps, a skirt. No ruffles, no lace, no ribbons or beads. Just a dress. And this is just a wedding. 

You take the hanger and hand it to the associate. She goes to add it to the selection. That’s your choice. You’ll see what the others found. 

You wander but don’t look at anything else. Winnifred has an armful as she nears, “well, think we’ve got a good lot. Let’s go see how it looks.” 

She’s happy. It’s strange. To her, it is a joyful time. Her son is getting married and she’s there to help her soon-to-be daughter-in-law pick a gown. You smile, or try to. 

You are led into a room with velvet chairs and a matching chaise. The women settle in. Your sisters in the chairs, and Winnifred between the three other women on the cushioned bench. The associate takes you to the curtained changing room. 

There’s at least a dozen hangers waiting for you. 

“Do you have a preference of which one to try first?” She asks. 

“This one last,” you point to the one you picked. 

“Okay,” she agrees easily. “Better get started.” 

“Sure,” you say, “it’s going to be a long day.” 

She helps into the first one. A ballgown with flowery lace all over and off-the-shoulder straps. This isn’t for you but you’ll let them see it. You lift the skirts above your feet and go out. 

There’s a few gasps as you get in front of the mirror and face your reflection. You hide your displeasure. It’s just not you. 

“Gorgeous,” Wanda and Rebecca praise. 

“I like the skirt,” Adrienne offers. 

“No, it’s not right,” Kitty hums. 

“It isn’t,” Winnifred agrees. 

You nod and turn to the associate, “next, please.” 

You step away from the mirror and hurry back to the shelter of the curtain. This is torture. If Barnes is so set on owning you, can’t you just sign the papers and be done with it? 

[prettybubblesintheair]

Follow You Anywhere 12

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. 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’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: yuhhhhhh.

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 <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

Gulls flap across the cornflower sky. Thin wisps of cloud crest beneath the gemlike sun, shining at you with a blinding gleam. You shield your eyes with your hands as Sy steers along the crooked backroad around the cliffs the face the coast.

Aika pokes her head out between the seats as she sits in the back. She is your only comfort on the long journey to a beach you’ve never been before. 

You don’t ask where you’re going. You wouldn’t know the difference, you only know that most people head to West Cove. You jostle with the truck. The sun reaches its apex. It’s a bit late to just be getting to the beach then. 

Yet, he doesn’t stop. He keeps driving. Around the rocky crags and cliffside, on and on, through the scatter of trees, and past that. You can still see the water but the clock ticks on. 

You sit up, more rigid than ever. You haven’t been able to relax but you’re on edge as you realise how far you’ve gone. How long he’s been at the wheel. 

“Everything okay, sweetie?” He asks. 

“Y-yeah. Um... does Aika need to go?” 

“She’ll let us know, don’t ya worry,” he chuckles. “Pretty, ain’t it? The water?” 

You peer around him as the water now stands at his shoulder. 

“Shouldn’t we be going towards the coast?” You ask. 

“We’ll get there, sweetie,” he assures you. “Just a little further. Didn’t I mention I got a surprise?” 

“Erm, no. A surprise?” 

“Don’t wanna spoil it,” he smiles and runs his hand over his beard.  

You shrink down and go silent. You don’t want to push him. You can’t help but hear the echo of his booming voice and the crack of plaster around his head. No, you won’t do that again. 

You come in sight of a house. The siding is beaten wood, the blue paint chipping away, and there’s a crooked shed around one side. The pillars of the porch are dusted with dirt and the old windows boarded up. A tickle creeps up your spine as Sy steers toward it. 

“Surprise,” he blusters excitedly. 

“Surprise?” You squeak and stare at the house. 

“It’s a beach house,” he proclaims proudly. You don’t have the heart or the courage to extinguish his excitement. Does he not see how decrepit it is? 

“A beach house?” 

“Oh yeah,” he shuts off the engine. “Just us.” 

“Wow,” you breathe. 

He laughs so loud it makes you flinch. He slaps his hand down on your thigh and squeezes, “don’t be so nervous. We’re gonna get it all cleaned up. Won’t take much.” 

“Mhm,” you hum as you look down at his large hand. You gulp and he lets you go. 

He gets out and you look at Aika. Her wet nose touches your cheek. Sy whistles and she hops between the seats and follows him out the open door. You climb out on your side and peer up at the house in dread. 

“Sy, it’s... it’s gonna be dark in a few hours though.” 

“Well, we won’t be driving back now,” he scoffs. “We’re gon’ be here a while. Just you and me. Like a honeymoon or such.” 

Your heart sinks. This man took over your life barely two days ago and he’s talking like you’re married. Worse, you let him bring you out to who knows where. Why hadn’t you been paying attention? 

“I’ll just get it opened up and air it out,” he says as he marches up to the porch. 

You watch him. Stunned. You really can’t believe this. It can’t be real. You scratch your scalp as panic razes through your skin. Aika sits on the steps and you turn back to the truck. You don’t understand... 

You go around the bed of the truck. It’s covered. And locked. You can’t pull it open. 

You hear him stomping before he appears. You quickly move away from the truck and pretend that you’re admiring the wooden bench amid the patchy grass. He calls your name and you turn to him, swallowing your fear down deep. 

“Wanna come see? Got a flashlight.” 

He wiggles the yellow plastic and clicks the button. He hits it to make it turn on. You blow out a breath and nod. You go to him, choked of your voice. 

He waves you ahead of him. You enter as he shines the flashlight around you. There’s furniture draped in sheets and an old cross stitch hung over a chest of drawers. There’s a fire stove that could be a century old and a carpet with fraying edges. You don’t know if this place is forgotten or condemned. 

“Get the boards down, get the dust out, and it’s perfect. Isn’t it?” He purrs as he comes up and puts his arm across your shoulders. 

You wince and nod. He guides you along as he aims the light into the kitchen and the stove that looks right out of a mid-century advert, well maybe if it got a fresh coat of paint. He squeezes you closer and stops. 

“You alright, sweetie? You quiet?” 

“Yes,” you sniff, “y-yeah. Like you said. It’s a surprise.” 

“Now I know you wee probably looking forward to the beach today but we’ll get this place nice and cleaned up and have a good fire. I brought stuff for smores. Heh, another surprise. Then tomorrow, we’ll have the whole day in the sun.” He waves the flashlight around, “you know, it’s not ten minutes walk to the shore. I know a shortcut.” 

“That’s... great,” you eke out. How does he know this place? 

“I’ll get the windows open. How about you pull them sheets off the furniture?” He suggests. 

“Okay,” you agree softly. 

You turn and go back down the hall. Aika watches through the door. You’re trapped here with this mad man and his trained dog. There’s no way out, even if you did know where you are. 

All you can do is distract yourself for as long as you can. Take your time, stay busy. It’s once you have nothing to do that he’ll be able to do anything he wants. 

You work at uncovering all the furniture. Then you find a cloth to dust the surface. Sy tosses the boards from the windows in the yard and you take the straw broom form the corner to sweep the floor. The sky ripples as the sun sets and you work in the dimming haze. 

Sy lights an old lantern, struggling to catch the wick. He leaves it with you as he takes the flashlight. He mutters something and continues into the shadows the hallway. There’s a clatter and Aika taps through the open door with breeze. She stops as her snout points after her owner. 

Thump, thump, thump, thump... the noise whittles off and you look down as you hear noise beneath you. There’s a basement? You wait as Aika keeps vigil, unmoving. You scratch the floor with the bristles as you try to get up as much dirt as you can. 

There’s a crackle and some more creaking. Sy thunders back up the stairs and you look up as he searches the wall. He twists a switch and shuts off the flashlight. The tinted bulbs on the wall light up.  

“Found the generator,” he says. “Look at you. Looks good in here.” 

“Um, yeah,” you continue to brush the floorboards. 

“Should I make up the bed?” He asks coyly. 

You put your head down as you move with the broom, “well, I am getting tired.” 

“Tired...” he mutters. “Mm, sure, but we’re still gonna have a fire, huh? It’s a nice night.” 

You nod, “if that’s what you want.” 

He sighs, “hm, I’ll... I’ll go fix up the bed then.” 

You know he’s disappointed. You’re trying to play along but you’re terrified. As the crickets buzz louder and you hear the forest cracking and swaying, the desolation sets in. Your hopelessness cannot be staved off much longer. 

Mistake after mistake, you can’t help but blame yourself for this. He might be the villain, but you set yourself up. You started that Instagram, you didn’t pay enough attention to security, you spoke to him at the grocery store, and you let him take you home. You let him invade your life and when you finally tried to get him out, it was already too late. 

It is too late. 

You still the broom and squeeze it. You stare at the window. You're lost. Entirely. 

He comes back out and you flinch. You try to shake off your despair. It clings but you make yourself smile. You lean the broom against the wall. 

“Can I help?” You ask. 

“Help, er, sure.” He accepts, “I got some fresh stuff in the truck.” 

He ushers you ahead of him. You go outside and he’s close behind. The keys jangle as he comes up next to you and you walk with him to the bed of the truck. He unlocks it and you nearly collapse. He drags out a large plastic bin. What is all this? It’s like he’s moving... 

How long has he been planning this? 

You step back and blink. You’re woozy with horror. All this stuff, you don’t think he’s planning on leaving. 

“Ah, this one,” he drags out another container. “Got the sheets in there.” 

He lifts the big blue bin and you take another step back. You shake your head as you stagger around dumbly. He doesn’t notice as he hauls the container in his arms toward the porch. 

“Be a sweetie and get the door,” he says. 

“No,” you wisp and clear your throat. “No,” you say loud as you stumble back. “No, no!” 

You shake your head as he turns to you, his face contorted in confusion. You spin and nearly trip over your own feet. You burst into a sprint. You’re not thinking. It’s purely your body moving on fear alone. 

You pump your arms and lift your knees, heading for the spatter of trees. They aren’t thick enough to hide you completely but you might be able to weave around fast enough to lose him. And then... 

Then... 

You don’t know. All you know is that you have to keep going. You can hear him. His footsteps crush through the twigs as he hollers, “Aika.” 

He whistles as you puff shallowly through the pain in your chest. Go, go, go. It isn’t fair. It’s two against one. 

You get past the first few trees as you hear his next order but don’t understand it. It’s in that other language. You’re hit from behind, a toppling force that sends you onto your stomach. You land painfully in the dirt as Aika stands on your back and growls in your ear. 

“Aika, please. You’re a good girl,” you plead, “Aika, off! Aika--” 

“She don’t know English,” Sy snarls as stomps up behind you and kicks your foot.  

You whimper and drop your head down. Your stomach, knees, arms, hands, legs, even your cheeks are scraped from your fall to earth. And fall you did. Back to reality. 

“Please,” you snivel. “Please, Sy. Take me home. I’m scared.” 

He sighs and snaps his fingers. Aika quiets and hops off of you. She turns as she stands by your head and Sy approaches you from behind. He pulls you up and turns you to face him. 

“You are home, sweetie,” he grits through his teeth. 

You pout and shake your head, “no, Sy. Why? Why are you doing this to me?” 

“Doing what?” His forehead wrinkles and his eyes dull. “I’m takin’ care of ya. What do ya mean?” 

“But... we can’t stay out here.” 

“Why not?” 

You stare up into his eyes. They’re empty. Like before. Like when he went rabid. You squirm and grab at his thick fingers. 

“Because,” you exclaim. “I don’t know you.” 

He winces and blinks. His throat bobs as his head tilts back and forth. He squeezes your shoulders and huffs, “no, no, you know me.” 

“I don’t,” you whine. “I don’t know you.” 

“You do. You do.” He insists. “You spoke to me. You smiled at me. Every night.” 

Your lip quivers and your tears overflow, “Sy,” you sniffle, “Sy, you... you... you’re not a bad guy, you’re just confused. Please, I know you don’t want to hurt me so take me home.” 

He closes his eyes and sucks in through his nose. His chest rumbles and he his breath out slow. His lashes lift. His pupils swallow up his irises. You shiver at the pools of black. 

“Captain,” he snarls. “I am your Captain.” 

[prettybubblesintheair]

Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows 7

Warnings: non/dubcon, clashing personalities, exclusion, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: moody boy Curtis Everett x bubbly, plus-size reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You sit at your desk, shaken as the sound of the mug shattering repeats in your head. You can smell the dark roast as you stare fuzzily at your monitor. You hadn’t even taken the coffee you brewed. You can see it in your mind, forgotten on the counter, lonely, going cold. 

You have no thirst for the maple shortbread roast. You rub your fingers together, the feeling of the shards, the incessant jitter that won’t leave you. You tried to play it cool but now you’re really scared. 

You open your Teams and type out a message to your manager. You’re spending half a sick day and going home. Her curt response betrays her agitation. She’s not impressed but you don’t care. Work isn’t as important as taking care of yourself. 

You shut down and pack up your bag. You slide your chair under your desk and keep your head down as you head for the stairs. You avoid the elevators to evade any notice. It feels like admitting defeat but you’re not sure there’s any victory to be had with that man. 

As you exit the building, the weight lifts from your chest and the slouch eases in your shoulders. Maybe you can ask to change desks. That would be a start. You can get a bigger thermos and bring lots of coffee so you never need to venture into the breakroom. This could work. 

Oh boy. You think you’re going to have to quit. You really don’t want to, you feel like you’ve barely begun. And he isn’t the only person there, it isn’t his company, so why should you have to run away? 

Dana can be… decent and there’s that woman with the vintage blouse you met in the breakroom. Somehow, you never managed to spill her coveted hot chocolates in your carelessness. It’s as if the universe put you on the path of this angry man, but why? 

Screw the universe. It can’t tell you how to live. You’ve never really worried about fitting into its machinations and you won’t start now. 

You don’t want to go home right away. You veer around and head down to the cafe a few blocks down. It’s a bit of a trek but you’ve heard good things. You go inside and wait your turn, ordering an iced fruity tea and a lemon scone. 

As you turn to go, you see that woman through the window. The one from the office in her thrifted clothes. You love her style. A braid red belt with brown tweed pants and a bell sleeved button up. She doesn’t see you wave as she turns away and carries on, earbuds tucked into her ears. 

You claim a table by the window and as you unwrap your scone, a man marches by, raising your hackles as you see the determination in his step. He heads in the same direction as that woman, intent and unbothered by his surroundings. You’ve seen him too, he works in one of the fancy offices. 

You pick at the scone and nibble on the corner before sliding it away again. You’re still addled by your breakroom run-in. You thought this would be a distraction. Or hoped it would. 

You leave, unsatisfied. Home it is. Alone, but safe. 

You take the bus halfway then walk a few blocks to your apartment. As you get inside, you’re restless. You do your best to settle in.  

Gaming doesn’t calm you down, even as you go around to say hello to your villagers. You shut that off and grab your half-done crochet project but the hippo is too much of a challenge to ease your nerves. So you get up and run yourself a hot bath. 

You undress with the door open. You bask in your newfound solace. It took you a while to get out of your parents’ place but now you’re on your own, you don’t have to worry. 

You slip into the water with a sigh. A playlist drones from your phone on the counter and you mix in scented epsom salts. You start to feel a bit bed as you recline and close your eyes. You stay like that until the water is lukewarm. 

You get out and pull on your fluff rope with the pink cheetah print. You feel renewed and ready to relax. Just don’t think about the inevitable. Tomorrow you’ll have to be back in office. 

You shuffle around you apartment lazily and turn on the television. You curl up in the corner of the couch as Sailor Moon transforms in the intro sequence. The music fills your small space. You’re comforted by the childhood favourite. 

You ease into the cushions and feel yourself starting to doze. You’d still be at work if you didn’t take the half-day. You shouldn’t be falling asleep already but you can’t resist the nap. 

You close your eyes and something scratches down ear canal. Some sort of friction. You don’t pay it much mind. There’s always noise from the hallway or the street. But it happens again and again, then you feel something. 

You sit up in fright and turn to the figure sat next to you. You’re so stunned, you can’t find your voice to scream. You take a deep breath and Curtis raises his index fingers. 

“If you scream, I’m going to have be bad,” he warns. “So let’s not do that.” 

“How’d you get in here?” 

He tilts his head as he watches the television. You peek over. You like this episode too—but that’s not the point! 

“Curtis--” 

He hushes you and sits back. “You don’t make it hard to follow you. You’re so oblivious, you have no clue what’s going on right in front of your face.” 

“I...” 

He shushes you again and looks at you. “You’re going to get real hurt one of these days.” He crosses his arms and puts his head straight again. “It’s up to you. Is today that day?” 

[prettybubblesintheair]

When He Babysits His Niece

word count: 1278 || avg. reading time: 5 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Atsumu x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: a whisper of spoilers

synopsis: Atsumu finally has the opportunity to hit on you

The Official Version of Events

You stood in line waiting for your turn. It was a pleasant midsummer afternoon and your usual way home brought you through a little park. Children were yelling and laughing as they zipped in and out of couples going for a stroll or people walking their dogs.

A playful breeze tugged at your hair when the elderly woman manning the dorayaki cart told you she‘d have to prepare a new batch and it would take a moment. As the batter sizzled away on the hot stove you fished your phone out of your pocket.

With your mind on the movie night you had planned with your friends that evening, you checked the takeout menus of your usual places to see what you could be in the mood for when suddenly a little black haired blur in a pink tutu over jeans wooshed by and hid behind you, giggling wildly.

"Uhm, hi.", you said, uncertainly.

The little girl gave a tiny bow, said "Hello.", before grabbing another handful of jacket and hiding her face in the folds.

You scanned the people nearby, trying to make out someone who belonged to the child.

"Where are your mom and dad?"

"Kobe."

Well, that might present a problem. This was Osaka.

"Did you come with friends?"

The little girl shook her head at this absurd idea.

"No, my uncle."

"Kaidaaa!"

A young man, visibly distressed, jogged along the path, craning his neck left and right, calling the name over and over.

The girl, obviously “Kaidaaa”, giggled again and hid around the corner of the cart, her bright blue sneakers still very visible.

You waved the young man over, pointing subtly to the mischief maker.

When he reached you, he doubled over, catching his breath and with the most relieved expression you had ever seen on a person he just said, "Ya take Hide and Seek way too seriously."

"Yer just real bad at playin‘.", the little girl said matter of factly and with an added shrug bit into a steaming red bean bun the cart lady must have snuck to her. You pressed your lips together to stop yourself from laughing at the man's offended look.

“I really like your tutu.“, you said to make conversation and Kaida smoothed it out proudly.

“It‘s for my birthday.“

“Oh, it‘s your birthday?“

“No.“ Wow, this girl gave anyone a run for their money. “My birthday was last week, but uncle couldn‘t be there so we celebrate this weekend.“

“Ah, I see. That‘s very nice of him.“ The guy gave you a half smile, obviously very satisfied with himself.

“He got me a scooter!“, she told you excitedly, “And the wheels glow in the dark!“

“That‘s so cool!“

“Well, I wanted to getcha a pony“, her uncle said, picking his niece up like a cat and dangling her in front of him, feet swinging like a pendulum while she still nibbled on the rest of her dorayaki, “but yer dad said something about that being impractical.“

Uncle and niece made a tsk sound and said “so lame“ in unison. It was obviously a thing between the two of them.

“How many did you want, dearie?“, the elderly lady asked while she generously spread the thick dark red paste between two fluffy pancakes.

“Five, please.“, you said, then quickly raised your hands and added, “They‘re not all for me! I‘m having some friends over later.“

The guy set down his niece. “Too bad.“, he said with that half smirk again, “I was gonna ask if ya wanted to join us for some ice cream.“

You felt your heart do a little flip at the prospect. You couldn‘t remember the last time you got flirted with, let alone by anyone nearly as handsome as him.

When the lady handed you the paperbag with the pastries the guy said, “Ya think, I could get yer number? We could get some ice cream tomorrow?“

His niece got very bouncy at the idea and put her hands together in a plea, giving you the biggest puppy dog eyes.

“Please excuse her.“, the guy said, putting his large hand on her face and pushing her gently behind him which she found hilarious, “She doesn‘t get fed anything otherwise.“

You laughed and after a second thought nodded. Once you put your number into his phone and paid the lady, you waved goodbye to the both of them, grinning from ear to ear.

As you walked off you heard her ask, “Did I do good?“ and when you turned around he quickly swooped her up around the middle and carried her away as if she didn‘t weigh more than a pillow, calling over his shoulder, “I‘ll call ya later, byeeee!“

________________________

What actually happened:

“How come ya don‘t have a wife?“, Kaida asked as she linked a dandelion with a daisy, “Is it because yer hair looks funny?“

Atsumu stopped in the middle of braiding her ponytail.

“Oi, yer on real thin ice, pipsqueak.“, he said threateningly, his desired effect somewhat diminished a second later by the flower crown she placed on his “funny lookin‘ hair“.

She crawled into his lap and posed for a silly selfie he immediately uploaded to his socials, joining the many - many - previous pictures just like this one.

Putting his phone away again he snuggled her closer and together they relaxed in the shade of a tree for a while. Then he suddenly perked up.

He watched you walk past them and get in line at a street cart a little further down the path.

This was perfect! For weeks he had been trying to get your attention! But no matter how cool and stoic he looked while stretching for his morning runs or how often he exposed his abs when pretending to wipe sweat off his face after a jog, you never noticed him. To be fair, he had gotten a bunch of other admirers this way but he had his eyes set on you so what did he care?

A plan quickly formed in his mind.

“Hey, Kai. Do me a favor?“

“No.“, she mumbled, curling up against his chest.

“Come on. Whaddaya want? Name yer price.“

“Can we order pizza for dinner?“

“I was gonna cook for ya, princess.“, he said with a definite pout in his voice.

“That‘s why I want pizza…“, Kai noted coldly.

He sighed. “Fine. Pizza.“

“And fries!“

“And fries.“, he muttered absently. Atsumu didn‘t take his eyes off you, all but biting his lips at how good your curves looked in those jeans. What he wouldn‘t give to put his head on your soft pudgy tummy after a long hard practice.

“Throw in some gummibears and ya‘ve got yerself a deal.“

They shook on it and Atsumu detailed his plan. She listened excitedly.

____________________________________________

> once you’re dating, Atsumu slips Kaida snacks and money whenever she calls you “aunt”

> Osamu tells the story of the dorayaki cart at every family gathering and eventually at your wedding when he is making his toast as the best man

> Atsumu asked Kaida 100% to help him with his proposal

> Kaida is the flower girl at the wedding

> later she will loudly sigh how she so wishes for a little cousin since her parents don’t plan on giving her a sibling

(Atsumu: “YES, OF COURSE WE’LL GET YA A COUSIN!”, you: “We’ll think about it.”, your husband: “So it’s a yes.”, You, laughing: “I’m thinking, Tsumu!”)

> he’ll “borrow” Kai even more often from then on to show you what a great dad he would be and eventually Kai gets her wish when you and Atsumu walk in at Christmas holding your twins

a/n: thanks to @makkir0ll for spinning the post story headcanons out of control, so I just had to add some! 🌟

[prettybubblesintheair]

pushing daisies season 2 episode 1 – bzzzzzzzzz!

i like my belongings. that's why they belong to me. i wanna be poor in other ways.

[prettybubblesintheair]

[prettybubblesintheair]

Caught Feeling Masterlist

(A Hank Thompson x Reader Fic)

Tired of her quiet, predictable life, a woman takes a spontaneous detour into a gritty bar. What begins as a distraction becomes a night of rediscovery, as an encounter with a captivating bartender brings her face-to-face with her own fears—and desires.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 11 - Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 14

[prettybubblesintheair]

Hey! I saw you were accepting Feyd requests and I got so excited! Could you do something where Feyd and reader have been married for a little while, have been pretty stand-offish and just keeping up appearances. They get into a fight over something stupid, saying hurtful things because reader still believes Feyd is incapable of feelings. Turns out he’s really protective though and gets seriously injured saving her during an attack? Reader panics trying to help him and the feels super guilty, meanwhile Feyd is enjoying the attention.

Staining

Feyd-Rautha x reader

Notes/Warnings: It's slightly different, but I hope you like it anyway. Mentions of blood and death. Smut so 18+. I'm sure there's typos. I think that's it.

Words: 4100

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

“You’re heartless”—that’s what you spit at him after watching him rip apart another family right before your eyes. 

He slaughtered a man for a petty crime, and then you had to watch what would become of the wife and children. 

He gave them options, of course. He presents all of them with a choice: to be servants for his House or to fight for survival in the slums of Giedi Prime. For the mother, it likely means you’ll have a new handmaid. For the boys, they will be trained so they can one day face off in the arena. Either way, it's no life.

As he announced the options for their future, you couldn’t look away from her: the woman whose husband lay at her feet, the blood drained from his body as she attempted to shield her two young sons behind her small frame. You watched her kind eyes go permanently wide out of shock. She needed to answer your husband’s question, give a response to his merciful offer, but she couldn’t. Nothing on her moved save for the grip she had on her boys, which only tightened the longer she stared at her dead lover. 

You knew what would happen to them. Your husband found her silence and inability to snap out of her trace irritating. She would make a poor handmaid if she could not listen. The boys, however, could still make fine warriors—guaranteed entertainment a few years down the line. 

So he separated them. Allowed the guards to pry them away from their mother’s fingers—who left her state of shock behind only when she felt them being ripped from her hands—before dragging them to cells with tears streaming down their round cheeks. 

Their mother collapsed to the floor by her dead husband. His blood soaked her skirts. You didn’t know how a man could do this to his own people for something as simple as the theft of some food, but he does, and often. Then he had her thrown out, back to the slums where she came from. 

She’ll never see her boys again. If you know your husband, he will likely one day force the two to face off with each other in the arena. After all, that’s where his uncle finds entertainment, and your husband will do anything to please the old man. 

Long after his guards have departed with the woman, you’re still staring at the body on the floor. The red around him is congealing. If you run your finger through it, the digit will return sticky and thickly coated. He’ll stain your skin. He’ll stain through your skin onto your insides. He’ll never come off. 

He’s like your husband, you think. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen stained you, and impressively, he didn’t even have to touch you to achieve that. Simply being in his presence was enough to leave his mark, and you’re in his presence plenty, just not how you imagined you would be when you married him. You imagined being in his bed. You imagined kisses and loving caresses and sweet words—that kind of staining. But you were a naive girl when your parents dropped you off on this planet, and you quickly learned how to be a woman; a woman whose husband only uses her for formality’s sake. 

You don’t know why you have to be by his side for this, though, but he always ensures that you are. The two of you…a solidified front to the world, as if you agree with the choices he makes and the punishment he doles out to those who don’t deserve it.

So that’s why you say it. Because you’re tired of this, tired of being silent, hating the idea that your silence might lead him to think the two of you are on the same page; that you’re a team. 

“You’re heartless.”

His head whips to you. “Heartless…” His voice around the word is vile; thick and rich like the blood on the floor. With a few steps in your direction he is in your space and you clasp your hands in front of you, fingers squeezing tightly to keep yourself from running off. He stares down at you, a luminous blue that you found so stunningly gorgeous when you first met him now a pair of frozen icicles stabbing into your skull. “I’m heartless?”

Your swallow is rough. Dry and scratchy. 

“I’m not the one who steals from his neighbors. I’m not the one who risks leaving his wife alone for the rest of her life,” he says. “They know the laws. They know the consequences.”

“And the woman? She deserves to be alone, rotting away in poor living conditions because of his choice? Her children deserve to die for your entertainment?”

“You take issue with how I handle things?”

“Yes.”

Feyd’s back teeth clench. His jaw sets in a sharp line. “Another reason for you to hate me then,” he grits out.

You blink. Your lips part. Another reason? You don’t have multiple reasons, and there’s certainly nothing you’ve done to indicate that you do. You used to hate that he didn’t, and doesn’t, care about you, but you’ve never said a word about it. You’ve never bothered him about sleeping in separate rooms or asked him to give you anything of himself. This—his treatment of his people in situations like this one—isn’t another reason. It’s the reason. 

“You could deal with these matters differently,” you say.

His fingers form balls at his sides. His mouth opens. It closes. He shakes his head and walks past you but pauses before he is completely out of your peripherals. “This is how things are done here,” he says. “You’ve been my wife for five months now. You need to get used to it.”

—

You don’t get used to it. You don’t get used to it because he doesn’t demand you be by his side at his executions anymore. Not after that day. 

You’d never spoken up before that moment, and it cost you what little interaction you had with your husband, which you despise to say was precious. You may not love him, and at times hate him, but he is the only thing you have on this planet. Little as you spoke to one another before, you held onto it because no one else gives a damn about you. Not that he does either, but at least he would give you a word or two. His brother and the Baron don’t bother, leaving you to Feyd to decide what to do with and when to do it. 

However, you imagine they didn’t expect that he would never touch you, and based on the way they watch you and Feyd when you’re forced to join the Harkonnen’s for dinner, you imagine they’re now aware that whatever was between you—minute as it was—is gone. He doesn’t even call on you for formal events. He no longer cares about showing a unified front to the other Great Houses. But you do.

You know what reputation means to the Harkonnens, and regardless of how you feel about the history of Feyd’s choices, you’re not willing to present your life on Giedi Prime as a failure. The two of you are too young for whispers to spread among influential families of a tainted marriage, a crack in the system. You don’t need questions floating about in regards to a unification that will not result in an heir. The end of the Harkonnen line, they’ll say, as Rabban, much older than your husband, has yet to choose a wife. How unfortunate, they’ll slyly mutter around the rims of their champagne glasses. And you’re not ready for that. 

So, with the exception of executions, you attend the events your husband does not invite you to anymore. You make sure your face is seen, especially when most vital. At his meetings, at his fights in the arena, and at Harkonnen parties such as this one. 

People enjoy themselves here. Shockingly, a few strong drinks eases the tension between Houses, and Giedi Prime has the strongest drinks of them all. It’s a tactic. A genius one, if you’re honest. The Baron invites his guests and gets them in a good mood and strikes deals one cannot go back on. Brilliant. Something you might have thought of yourself if your husband let you share your thoughts; thoughts you have plenty of. But no one cares how you would rule this planet if you had a say in its future.

You watch the Houses mingle about. You watch them laugh and dance. You watch them watch your husband. You watch them watch you. You watch the wheels turn in their alcohol-addled brains. You roll your eyes at what he doesn’t see. 

Ungluing yourself from your designated spot, you step up the staircase that leads to the Harkonnen men, your husband and his brother flanking the throne the Baron sits upon. You don’t think to speak to any of them; you didn’t break away from your assigned location for words. Instead, for all to see, you reach up to cup Feyd’s cheek and turn his head toward you for the first kiss since the day of your wedding. A gentle brush of lips. A buzz more engulfing than any drink could offer.

He freezes, and when you pull back his lips are still parted. His eyes open slowly and he stares down at you in awed confusion. How he doesn’t understand why you’ve done what you’ve done is just short of bewildering, but it doesn’t seem to click. 

“You–”

“I’m going to retire for the night,” you tell him. You’ve been at this party long enough, and the guests have now seen what they needed to see. Not to mention, their tipsy state means they’ll soon forget any thoughts they have about you until morning. They’ll stop searching for your presence. 

You don’t wait for your husband’s nod of approval. You’re pretty sure he doesn’t care where you are at any given time anyway, so you descend the staircase and exit the grand room into the hall that leads to your bedroom.

The echo of footsteps follows and you’re bold enough to believe it could be Feyd before a blade is pressed against your throat from behind. For a moment, you think it still might be your husband—retaliation for the kiss that re-sparked a feeling you’ve been trying to ignore since you married him—but the voice in your ear is feminine. 

“He killed my husband, my Lady,” the voice says, and you instantly remember her. It’s been two months but nothing could make you forget the look in her eyes. “I want my sons.”

You swallow hard. The blade nicks your throat from the additional force. A droplet trickles down your neck. “I can’t return your sons to you,” you tell her, at the same time questioning how she infiltrated such a secure place. But you suppose with the number of guests, slipping in would not have been the most difficult of challenges. 

You wince at the deepening cut. Your heartbeat quickens, doing little to aid in stopping the blood seeping from your wound. “You’re the na-Baronness.”

“I have little power here.”

“I don’t care!” she shouts, her words bouncing off the walls. “I want my boys,” and you think now she’s crying. Her tone alters. Something catches in her throat. “What’s happened to them?”

You don't wish to tell her, but you’re in no position to deny her requests. “They’re alive and well,” you say, which isn’t a complete lie. The Baron prefers strong, well-fed fighters—the duels last longer that way. 

“I want them back!”

“As much as I would like to, I cannot give them back to you. It’s not my decision.”

“Then I’ll take you from him,” she spits. “The way he took mine.”

You must’ve put on a grander show than you expected with that kiss because she seems to fully believe that your death would matter to him. But you know he won’t blink an eye. He might even thank her. Reward her by reuniting her with her sons, though unlikely. 

“He won’t care,” you tell her. 

“I have seen him, my Lady. He will care,” she says, and you don’t know how she could possibly come to that conclusion or why. It’s not as if the people of Giedi Prime sense a kind capability from the Harkonnens. “He will–”

She chokes. The blade trembles then drops from your neck. You quickly glance down to find Feyd’s knife deep in her side. 

Many things are a mystery to you in that moment. Why he bothered to leave the party; why he came down this hall of all halls, especially when his room resides in another; and why he pierced her side rather than go for the neck, which would have instantly ended her. His mistake. An uncharacteristic mistake.

The woman whips around, freeing you, and you stumble out of reach. They’re a blur of battling bodies as you get your footing, but then it catches up with you—the pain. Your hand goes to your neck and you make a little noise at the sting of your fresh wound. Your mistake. 

Feyd looks away from her in search of you for a single second. Not even. A half-second. But the woman is smaller, quicker, and the distraction is enough. Her blade slides into his abdomen. He grunts. You gasp.

He regains his focus and, by her hair, he rips her head back to expose her throat and shoves the blade through her neck. Blood spurts across his chest as he removes the weapon, and she collapses to her knees before the rest of her body flops to the floor. 

Feyd takes a shaky step back, staring down at the blade in his torso. He drops his knife and his hand goes to the hilt of the other. 

“No, don’t!” you yell, but you’re too late. He jerks the blade out and it clatters on the ground. His palm does nothing to stop the flow of crimson. 

Rushing to him, you fall to the floor as he does. You press your hands on top of his to keep the pressure but it’s useless. “Don’t you know anything?” you mutter. “You should’ve kept the damn thing in.”

He chuckles. The bastard actually chuckles. Then his other hand raises and lands on top of yours. You think he’s trying to add more pressure, but his touch is gentle. His thumb runs over your knuckles. 

“It’s alright,” he says, and you’ve never heard his voice so devoid of depth and strength.

“No, it’s not,” you retort, irritated. 

“You still hate me?”

“Shut up!” you snap. “Help!” Yanking the black chiffon sleeve off your gown, it tears free and you ball the material to shove it against his wound. “Help!” 

Guards burst through the doors and run to you. You sigh with relief, but when you look down, your husband is paler than you’ve ever seen him. 

“Feyd…” 

You’re shoved out of the way in a second, flung to the side like a flicked-away ant, and then he’s taken from you. You watch them until he’s out of view. When you glance down at your hands, they’re stained with him. 

—

They bandaged your neck in mere minutes and you find it aggrivating that they couldn’t work as efficiently on him. You’ve been dead silent for hours now, expecting to hear screams of pain as they stitch him back together, but then you remember he’s a glutton for pain. He’s probably enjoying it, the sick bastard. But you’re not enjoying it—the waiting, the limbo. It’s torturous. 

You’ve never seen him hurt before. You’ve witnessed his skills in the arena, and not once in your seven months of marriage has someone gotten a decent slash on him. 

Guilt hits you hard as you recall that it’s your fault. That woman was skilled as well—you suppose she would be if she was raised to live where she did—but if you hadn’t made that noise, if you hadn’t distracted him, she would’ve been dead before she could do her damage. This wouldn’t have happened. 

Just then, a knock comes at your door. You speak for them to enter and a guard peeks into your room. “My Lady…” he says, and you pray you’re not about to be told your husband didn’t survive a single stab wound. “You can come with me.”

You don’t wait around for more. You hop to your feet and quickly follow through hall after hall until you’re at his room. 

“What will I see when I walk in there?” you ask. 

“He’s fine, my Lady,” he says, bowing his head to dismiss himself before returning to his post. 

Turning the knob, you edge the door open and step inside. The bed is in immediate view, but he’s not in it. He’s not in it and he should be. Not even the covers are pulled back. Maybe the guard misled you. If he were fine, surely he would be resting. 

You make your way in further. 

“You’re here.” 

Your head snaps to your right where he’s leaning against the lone table in his room, a lit orb on the wooden surface illuminating him from behind in a white glow. He’s less pale than he was; what little rosiness he once had returned to his skin. 

Clearing your throat, you say, “I was told to come.”

“Because I told them to bring you,” he says. 

Your heart pounds at the bareness of his torso, the thickness of his arms as they cross in front of his chest. It pounds in a different way, an off-kilter way, when you notice the dressings wrapped around his waist and the patch of blood that is seeping through three layers of it. 

He must see your distraction because he says, “It’s fine.” Your eyes flick back to his. A beat of silence passes between you. You’re unsure how to continue now that he’s seen the concern you have for him. “I suppose you’re disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” you repeat. “What for?”

“I’m alive.”

Your jaw drops ever so slightly. You recover as best you can before you say, “Feyd, I don’t want you to—I’ve never wanted you to–”

He holds up his hand, cutting you off. “I’m going to listen to you.”

Your brow pinches. Why did he silence you, then? “Listen to me about what?”

He takes a deep breath, an action that lifts his shoulders and has them falling heavily back down. His eyes penetrate you as they’ve always done, but the iciness is gone. “I don’t care if the people I hurt want to kill me,” he starts. “But she didn’t come to kill me; she came to hurt me by killing you. So I will listen to your thoughts when it comes to dealing with matters like that one.” He pauses, expecting a response, but you don’t quite know what to give him, so he continues. “Your voice will make fewer enemies.”

“You care about making enemies?” Since when would a Harkonnen ever care about such a thing? Especially when they are known for doing that thing so well.

“I care when they come after my wife,” he says. Pushing off the table, he leisurely steps toward you. You’re stuck to your spot. “The men of my House do not have a history of caring about their wives. They’ve never cared if their actions bring them harm, and yet, people have used our wives as pawns for revenge for centuries. Many have died to prove a point. I’m not going to let you be one of them.”

He stops only to not collide with your body. You have to look up to maintain eye contact, and when you do, his breath brushes over your lips. “Why didn’t you kill her when you could have? You stabbed her in the side. You avoided vital organs.”

“Because you wouldn’t have wanted me to kill her if I didn’t have to,” he says. “So I didn’t kill her…until I had to.”

You suck in a sharp breath. You didn’t know he was capable of such restraint. You didn’t know he had enough fragments of a heart to glue together to keep him from doing exactly as he pleases. 

His hand lands on your hip and his thumb begins to rub up and down over the curve of it. He hasn’t touched you…ever. In fact, he’s seemed over the months to deliberately avoid it. Like your skin would burn him even through the fabric of your gowns. Anytime it looked like he would try, he’d pull back before flesh grazed flesh. 

“You hadn’t kissed me since we married,” he says, so gentle in that low voice that it’s practically a whisper. It doesn’t make the heat of his breath any less intense against your skin. 

“People were watching too intensely,” you inform him. “They were thinking something was wrong between us, I could tell, and I didn’t want to give them that power over you.”

“So that was it, then?” he asks. “That’s the only reason you did it?”

“That’s–” you swallow, debating whether or not to say it, to give him more. 

“What?”

“That’s the reason I did it,” you decide to tell him, and his face shifts; his features alter in a manner you’ve never seen. He looks down to his feet. He nods and his touch disappears, and now you feel cold and you hate it. “But that’s not the only reason I wanted to do it.”

He freezes as he did before. For a moment, his chest stops rising and falling with expected breaths. When his tongue darts out to wet his lips, he raises his head. 

You can’t stop staring, even though your brain is telling you to get ahold of yourself. His mouth is so plush. You’ve always known it. It’s always done something to you. And whatever that something is, it’s more potent now that he’s so close and you can see his lips glistening in the low light. 

“Will you do it again?” he asks.

Again? You didn’t imagine he wanted you to do it the first time, or the second. The first was an obligation. The second was not exactly mutually agreed upon. But as he stands in front of you, asking, you can’t bring yourself to say no. You don’t want to say no. So you say yes, and you inch up on your toes until your lips meet his. 

Immediately, he’s yanking your body flush against his. His hand goes into your hair, and he parts his lips so they can better lock with yours. He’s good at this, and you don’t want to think about why, can’t think about why without a knot of jealousy settling in your gut that only dissipates when those hands travel down your body to the back of your thighs. You’re in the air, your legs wrapped around his waist, your lips still sealed for one second more before your back hits the mattress and he’s on top of you with his leg shoving between yours, nudging your thighs open for him. 

You don’t know the exact moment it happens, but your skirts are up to your waist and he’s inside of you, moving in and out, kissing your neck and pulling gasps from your throat, and it feels right, good, like pieces falling together. A bit of you feels guilty for that. That you can know what he’s done to people and still want to feel the pleasure of every inch that he’s giving you. You’re selfish, maybe that’s it. Maybe you’ve always been and you didn’t know it. You can’t bring yourself to care as he makes those deep noises in your ear and stains your insides.

After you’re sated, you lay there for a while with him in your arms and his arms wrapped around your waist. His head rests on your chest. You think about the things you’ve done to each other in the course of an hour and it brings a blush to your cheeks. You think about how you can’t go back and that you don’t want to. You’ve wanted this from the beginning, despite what he’s done. You expected it when you married him only to be sorely disappointed at his lack, or what appeared as a lack, of interest. You’re definitely selfish, at least when it comes to him. But you refuse to be when it comes to other matters.

“I want something from you,” you say. He hums, content. “I want us to take in that woman's boys.”

[prettybubblesintheair]

Oh, Baby Universe: dad!Jake Seresin x female reader

You might not have been his girlfriend, but when you left town one night a month after sleeping together, it completely broke Jake’s heart. Now, a year later, you’ve returned and you’re not alone. You have a new little companion that just so happens to bear a startling resemblance to Jake.

Oh, Baby: Jake learns he’s a dad

In the Night: Jake has nightmares that you leave him again

His Girls: A domestic moment with dad!Jake

The Other Mother: your mother comes to town

Birthday Boy: It’s Jake’s B-Day and you have a special gift for him

It’s What You Make It: Jake’s mother makes an unexpected visit

And Honey, I’ll Make It All Okay: Jake’s Dad shows up.

Nothing Better than What We’ve Got:You’re finally ready to have a ring on your finger

I’ve Promised You Forever: Jake and his Honey are married

The Prequel:

Oh Honey: Part 1

What Once He Had: Part 2

Gone: Part 3

Related Fics (jump around in the timeline):

Everything and All of It: Reunion...stuff;)

A Little Love: cuteness during a family grocery trip

Daddy Knows Best: Eve says her first word

Oh Wow: Flashback to when Jake first sees you

Methods of Love and Trust: Jake lets his mother babysit for the first time. 

Jingle of The Bells: Eve is worried Jake won’t make it home for christmas

That’s Definitely a Name: Eve helps name her baby brother.

The Favorite: the Daggers meet Eve for the first time.

Drabbles:

Eve is upset when Jake has to leave

the rules of Disneyland

Eve learns about Baby #2

Eve’s got a new guy

First Night Home

AUs:

Your Way Back to Me: Oh, Baby AU. What if you didn’t return after Eve was born and it was decades later before you met Jake again? And how would he feel to find out his best student might be a bit closer to him than he initially believed? 

Now that I have you (Part 2 of Your Way Back to Me)

Because You Stayed: What if you never left?

Moodboards:

Jake x Honey

Jake x Honey with Eve

Jake x Honey Elopement

Oh, Baby Wedding

Eve’s First Birthday

Coach Jake & Jake x Honey in Texas

Oh, Baby Christmas

Baby Boy

Jake Seresin Masterlist Main Masterlist

[prettybubblesintheair]

His dedication in this 🖤

Austin Butler-Feyd Rautha Harkonnen

[prettybubblesintheair]

Defending His Lady

Feyd-Rautha x wife!reader

Summary: Both Feyd and your son take issue with the people of Giedi Prime not accepting you as their Lady. Part of the His series

Notes/Warnings: Based on a request. It's a little bit different. Typos, probably.

Words: 1250

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

Years ago, when you imagined your future, it wasn’t this. It wasn’t on this planet. It wasn’t with the husband and child you have. It wasn’t with the title you obtained from your marriage. You imagined light glowing through an open home, frilly gowns, a stuffy Lord, and a daughter who would be treated like a princess. It wasn’t necessarily what you wanted for your future, but it was what was likeliest to be. You’d be a foreign Lady on a new planet, yet respected just as much as their home-grown Lord.

You learned rather quickly that that’s not always how it works. And while you wouldn’t trade the life you have—not your husband, not your son—for anything the universe could offer, you can’t deny the difficulties that come with being the wife and mother of the Harkonnen line of Giedi Prime. 

The people wanted Feyd to marry one of their own, certainly not the concubine their na-Baron once took. They wanted purity. To them, you are tainted blood, and despite your status on this planet, many cannot resist treating you like a parasite. In the five years that have passed, you’ve taken the poor treatment and whispered words with as much grace as you can, knowing Feyd is always there to end the lives of those who step out of bounds, but it’s harder to ignore now that Fionn is no longer a baby.

Your son is growing. His ears catch more than you’d like. He notices how his father reacts to the harsh words directed at you and how he never sees the people who speak them ever again. He’s gathering the pieces that his mother is often disrespected, and that is the last thing you want.

—

“He sees it,” you tell your husband as you slip into your nightgown.

“He doesn’t see it,” Feyd says, pulling back the top layer of covers on the bed and settling under the sheets. When he reaches out his hand, you snuggle into his embrace. His arms are snug around you. His lips press a kiss to your hairline. “You worry too much.”

You hold in your huff of frustration. “I do not. He asked me as I put him to bed if bad people are hurting me and if that’s why Daddy keeps making them disappear.” Feyd pulls back to look down at you, his brow furrowed. You nod. “He sees it.”

Feyd exhales heavily through his nose. As a father, he’s been diligent, so very careful with how he leads his son; a surprisingly delicate guidance—something he didn’t have growing up. What started from Feyd’s fear of your son being too much like him died as the boy showed only love, but Feyd has continued his intricate training. He has trained so that even at the age of four, Fionn is vigilant, particular with his words, and practical in his choices. He trains so that outside factors are not as influential. He trains so the boy can think for himself. And it shouldn’t be a shock that he notices what happens in his own home. 

“It’s time he understands then,” Feyd says.

Your eyes go wide and you let out a light gasp. “Feyd, he’s four.”

“There’s no point in hiding what happens to them if he’s already curious. He’s as stubborn as you are,” he tells you. “And he’s old enough.”

—

“Mommy, where are we going?” Fionn asks, his little hand tugging on yours to get your attention. 

You take a deep breath, sucking in the dank air that leads to prisoner cells. You’re not sure how this is going to go, but you agreed and you need to let it play out. “Daddy wants to show you something.”

Fionn’s head turns to Feyd. “Is it a bad man, Daddy?”

Feyd pauses halfway down the hall and crouches in front of his son. You release Fionn’s hand so he can fully face his father. 

“Yes,” he says. “It’s a bad man.”

“He hurt Mommy?”

“Some of our guards heard him talking about your mother. He said rude things, called her names. He wished for harm to come to her.”

Fionn makes a soft noise of surprise. Name-calling—he considers that one of the worst of crimes, knowing what it got him when he insulted the little Lady of House Kenric. 

“But why?” he asks. 

“It doesn’t matter why,” Feyd says. “What matters is that we protect the ones we love, yes?”

“Yes,” Fionn agrees with a sharp nod.

Feyd looks up at you, silently commanding that you stay here. The last time you entered a cell to face the one who insulted you, more abuse was hurled at you until it tapped into a well of internal shame. It took you three days to shake that off, all the while your husband begging for you to return to your natural state of uncaring. 

You’ve always cared though, to some degree. It doesn’t matter that they like you so much as it matters that you’re not a stain on Feyd’s reputation. After all, he’s the Baron now, and one day, his son will be. If the people of Giedi Prime cannot forget where you come from, you worry they will never forgive Feyd, and worse, that they will never accept Fionn as their ruler. 

Feyd takes your boy’s hand once again and leads him the rest of the way. They stop at the correct cell and when a guard turns a key, they head inside. 

Inching your way down the hall, you halt just outside of it. Your finger goes to your lips to ensure the guard does not give you away, and with your back to the stone wall, you hear Fionn.

“He did it?”

The man is silent, likely knocked unconscious from Feyd’s earlier visit. You suppose he’ll be awake soon enough. 

“Yes,” Feyd tells him, his voice dropping an octave, “He did.”

“Did he apologize? He should apologize to Mommy.”

Feyd releases a sigh. His son is much more diplomatic than himself. But your husband can’t fairly be bothered. That’s the point of his parenting: to raise a better Baron than both he and his uncle have ever been. 

“Son, we do not let men like this apologize. We do not let them near your mother.”

“Oh.”

“So what do you think we do with them?”

Fionn hums, and it’s so much like his father that it’s as if he has stood on the sidelines of every death your husband has executed. The way Feyd hums as he plays with his victims. A fake hum of consideration, of contemplation. What should I do with them? How should they leave this world? Questions he pretends to ask as if he hasn’t planned their deaths out from the moment he was informed of the crime. And that’s the hum your son gives. He hums like a natural monster in the making. You wouldn’t be surprised if the boy is tapping his finger against his chin as he thinks. 

You feel an ounce of pride. There’s more to him than a kind heart, lovely as that heart is. He will be a fearsome Baron, but one that will show mercy when mercy is fit. However, here, now, mercy is not fit, and his father has made that clear.

“Would you like the first stab?” Feyd asks. “Top of thigh.”

The shing of metal scraping against Feyd’s sheath fills the space. A small blade. Good for Fionn’s hand.

“Which thigh, Daddy?”

Feyd chuckles. “You choose.”