#tw marital abuse | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kismetkween · 11 months ago

Text

An exchange of control

“I try in vain to be persuaded that control is anything but the intersection of rage and desire.”

Today is an odd one, I went to my dad’s for Easter I did not pressure Ben to go. He had plans to fix his truck and help Chrissy move. The past week Ben and I have been sitting in the wake of the news that I am moving to Ohio. We decided not to divorce quite yet and play it separate. This has been very casual, and everyone is digesting it well.

His GF(ish) is moving into a new apartment and starting over from scratch. He has offered her some of our furniture from the garage storage to give her a head start. Kurt and I continue to work towards a life together we don’t know what that looks like, but we know we want to love and support each other in our quest to be the best versions of ourselves.

Ben and I have been together for 16 years. He has always yelled, and we broke up a lot and our day to day has been touch and go. Highest of highs and lowest of lows. I always thought we were a relationship and we loved each other and were strong and resilient and stayed together for better or worse.

Then there came a time when he yelled at me when I did anything I enjoyed, or when we tried to have a discussion or debate or if I did not respond to something he said properly. I carried guilt for losing interest, but it was not that, I can see that now. It was not wanting to put myself in the way again.

I lost my interest in sex but, … Who can bring them to fuck someone who hates them. I am not trying to be emo hate is the appropriate word.

Anyone, (even your partner) Who finds the places and times you are to be the most vulnerable (in your home) and then chooses to be the most malevolent presence in your life, they are not your friends and they do not like you.

If I am wrong how else am I to tell? Name-calling? check. Knowing the things I hate and doing them anyway? check. Being petty? check.

If I was going to a party and found out this person was going to be there… I would not go. If I found out this person was to be educating my son, I would not allow it. Why do I go home? Why do I allow?

I no longer feel bad.

It does not mean he is a bad person I do feel these things that spark his rage are born in a conflicting place for him. I just don’t want to participate in it anymore.

An example that became relevant today,

A few months ago, (find date) I was working, from home, I was trying to update a game so Sterling and I could play together later.

I asked Sterling to get my controller and start the update. Ben started helping him look, of his own volition, and I suggested moving the couch. To look under and in it.

He said something about the clearance of the couch to the floor and how would it fit under there, I did not understand why I was supposed to know that and why he was upset about me not knowing that.

We fought about it really badly, He called me a fucking idiot in front of my son. We went back and forth a bit longer about it and eventually got quiet. Noah stood between us, and I mumbled, “No wonder I want to fucking kill myself this is what happens when I try to have a good morning.” He piped back up that if I wanted to kill myself it was not his fault, it was because I was a weak person especially if that is all It takes to make me want to die” I called my dad and his mom. I wanted to leave but I didn’t.

Cut forward to today he is hauling around furniture he bought me to give to her. Here is where things confuse me. I have no interest, even at times I have tried to force myself or move parts of me around, they are burned and can no longer connect with him.

I even feel as though I have moved on at a higher level. I have found and loved and lost people more dynamic and more interesting. I am literally in love, and it is the best feeling ever. All he has done is like… fucked another and that does not interest me.

I definitely don’t envy her, or him...

I do, however, find it very very hard to admit I am not worthy of love. I cannot understand how she, a person he barely knows, is worthy of more respect and effort than his wife and the mother of his child. The person who does a lot for him. Who is always there to love him the day after he has fucked up. I have huge issues with these feelings of inadequacy.

He does not treat me as a person he loves or has ever loved.

I have written about this a million other times, but If I ask him to do something, or need his help with anything, it is always a huge fight. The kind with ugly words and screaming not the kind where you finger wag and say “boys will be boys” the kind where you wonder to yourself, who in their right mind wants to fuck a grown man who throws a fit about cleaning up after himself.

But honestly, he is generous and helpful... Just to everyone but me. Free car work for his friends and family, his sister or mother need painting, moving, yardwork? He is on it.

Others, people who only call when they need something, they had him for a whole weekend and he will call me annoying or needy if I called him and ask him when he is going to call him because I want him to spend time with me or his son.

Last week he and I got in to a screaming match where he mocked me and made fun of me and threw my words up in my face. Because he was laid up in bed all week with some girl and wanted me to do all the dishes while I was out of town. I refused.

His own dishes.

This sounds like old sitcom wife stuff but it bothers me on a fundamental level that is “why them and why not me... and if them and not me... why do I?”

But he moved an entire garage full of furniture for her on his only day off, on a holiday he could have been spending with Sterling. She needed it and she deserved it and he should have. It is not a matter of her getting more than me it is me seeing a baseline of his efforts and what he is willing to do for those people and then questioning why I do not qualify for those same efforts.

What is wrong with me and my all and why does it not compare to a common person and their bare minimum? I sometimes am just embarrassed.

Embarrassed that I am still here, embarrassed that I have not done anything effective to stop it. Embarrassed that, I have changed so much of myself to make it work, and given so much of my time to a person who does not want good for me. Who does not want me to succeed.

I think I am mostly embarrassed because it took me so long to realize. There is a part of me that is baffled, as I am not able to function in any other environment when I am humiliated. I don’t know how I am able to keep it together here. I think because I am using all my energy at home I do not have enough to do anything and it is just cyclical.

When it comes to the yelling itself. I have asked for it to stop for the entirety of our relationship and he says he cannot help it but it is a weak excuse.

In the past 16 years, I have seen him get so angry, blood boiling mad at his siblings, friends, and bosses and other people and he has never yelled at them. I have tried to counter this in anyway. I have tried fixing the issues that he is mad about, I have tried talking to him, emailing him calmly, I have tried walking away, shutting down conversations and even try yelling back.

When I consistently used that approach, it was when his niece was here, this was just following I would say, that happiest period we had, the most relationship success we had. I complained a few times to him mom and sister who simply replied “yell back” it seemed just that simple. Maybe I had been overthinking it. Also it seemed to solve the issues I was having with my niece witnessing the yelling. I didn’t want her to think I was just, “taking it” I wanted her to see strength but instead I showed her desperation, being backed in a corner.

Either way the irony came when he sent me an email telling me that if I cannot stop yelling I need to leave his house along with several other threats to my security (not my safety.)

So why does he do it to me if it is unsuccessful, and it is not a method he uses with anyone else? If I ask him I always get confirmation of my greatest fear. The problem is me, my issues, my health, my inability to understand. I am constantly changing. There is no way that every single version of me has been a problem.

I know he is wrong whether he means it or not. He does mean it though. If he is in a good mood later, if he is better and open to discuss it I have begged for apologies that he has told me I do not deserve. I have given him a thousand sorries he has not earned just so he does not have to carry the weight around with him. I donot believe he does not care how I feel, I believe he wants me to feel badly.

I have seen his behavior with Chrissy, He wines and dines her, goes to restaurants he hates, he showers, he cleans the room, cleans the house, he doesn’t disrespect her, he helps her with tasks. He treats her like a person.

He won’t clean up after himself if it helps me, he WANTS me to work around him. He will not even wash the sex of someone else off of him before he crawls into my bed in the middle of the night because he wants me to be uncomfortable.

I want to be treated like a person by everyone but especially a person I have to face at my most private and vulnerable, in my own home. I want all I do for him to be valued and in return I simply want to not be abused.

He could have done these things for me, when I asked him too, long ago. He didn’t because he didn’t want to. He did not want to give me effort. If I say these things need to change or I go, and he does not fix them, he wants me to go.

The amount of time I have stayed where I am unwanted is embarrassing but It took so long for me to realize this is abuse. Halloween really did it for me I have written about it a bit but not always in the mood to reflect on it.

Now that I have a plan to leave though… I cannot put it back in the box. I cannot unsee it as abuse. Even if I am humiliated I need to go back to whatever lobotomized state that allowed me to stay and ignore the obvious.

Because the fear, and humiliation and anger at wasted time makes it so hard to stay. I don’t want to waste another minute. 71 days I keep telling myself. I just can’t pretend enough to make me stay or ruin all my progress. I think that is what scares me the most.

Long story, less long. As he was moving the couch, after all the damage has been done and we both have new partners, when I can never look at him again without seeing every name, he has ever called me, the controller fell out of the couch.

I don’t care about the controller. I bought a new one that day without rage. Knowing things get lost, living in the world in which we have to pivot. Where abuse will not unlose things or unruin relationships, or uncall someone an idiot.

But it has taken me months to realize that he never cared about the controller either. When he found it, He brought it to me, beaming with pride, waiting for me to thank him. Waiting for me to tell the story where he was the hero. He cared not about the controller but control. For so long, he wanted to control me. Not even for what I was offering just so things don’t change for him. I used to be more angry, more willing to fight, sometimes I was the opponent he needed. I would fight my own nature to be what he needed. I think it validated him. I think all his life he has waited for someone to fight for him and not against him. He has trauma too and I acknowledge that but when mine has been an issue, I fix it. I take time off work, I get medication, I talk to therapists, I change things. When I asked him straight forward, are you going to change, and he said he had no interest in changing, I knew there were no longer things here that he can control.

I see the irony, the OCD girly is remarking to others about control, but I am also willing to change to be kinder. To be nicer and I need an environment that supports that.

I don’t know how to say this other than the fact I am wildly dynamic. But I don’t think he is bad, I don’t think he is a bad guy. I think we are like most couples, we did fine for a long time and somewhere along the way we started putting fights off for later and so many unresolved issues came up, and everytime we speak ot think of the other so much hurt and ugly comes out and no one wants to be hurt and ugly all the time. // I know this just seems like a wild rant with no point but the point is, I am releasing my guilt, I carry it no longer. I do have a touch of guilt about introducing Ben and Chrissy, I don’t think it was very “girls’ girl” of me but ... I don’t think he will be cruel to her. I think they can find peace and happiness and I don’t believes he deserves to be alone.

There is so much more to discuss but I hope to be more coherent with my thoughts..

https://kismetkweenx.wordpress.com/about/

1 note · View note

msfbgraves · 11 months ago

Note

Speaking of which, Since the puppies eventually learn how their parents really met and how Mama was forced to marry Daddy (and also Daddy’s…major fuckups in said marriage), do they think their parents don’t love each other? That they’re only together because of them? Do they ever doubt Daniel and Terry actually being in love with each other? Or perhaps, think that their parents will divorce or something. I dunno, I kinda imagine Daniel and Terry as being openly affectionate with each other, but maybe it’s not enough to convince the pups, especially as they get older.

The pups, luckily, don't know how it feels when your parents don't love each other. If their parents didn't, they would know. But yes, as teenagers, it does confuse them, because talk about mixed signals! There's also this silence around the topic, and if you dare mention "that night", suddenly you're dealing with a Mob boss and not a Daddy.

I haven't written about it much yet because I don't know where I stand on the topic. Do you have a right to know everything about your parents' love life? Terry certainly wouldn't think so, but of course it is going to affect the pups, too. Still, Daniel wouldn't want his pups to think badly about their Daddy! And he has this tendency in canon too to not share stories that hurt too much. I could see both Samantha and Anthony in Cobra Kai want more information about their grandfather, but Daniel cannot talk about him. So I feel he'd go mum here a lot too. So the pups are going to run into a wall with their parents - it does come up when they're older, simply never for very long. Listen to their extended family, though - Nonna, auntie Lisa, uncle Vinny, even Apollonia may have Something to Say about Terry if they get drunk enough. (Uncle Michael shares Nonno's sense of discretion even then). Still, Daniel would shut that down immediately. He couldn't shut down Amanda, though, and with how adamant she is about omega rights and welfare, they might be able to get a clearer picture of their parents' marriage. I could also see them blowing up at Terry if the man weren't so dangerous but he is.

So here, again, we have "that night" and its long shadow, plus of course why the marriage was arranged and I haven't really thought through how that works out later! It's a great question. We shouldn't forget, though, that stories may need conflict, but both Terry and Daniel try hard to give their puppies a happy home. It's merely the contrast between that happy home and the shadows of the past that confuses the pups at times.

#silverusso #knights and pawns #omegaverse #mob au #tw marital abuse #marital problems #tw arranged marriage

3 notes · View notes

andiatas · 4 months ago

Text

Lawyer wants Mette-Marit to be called in for questioning

The ex-girlfriend accuses Marius Borg Høiby of assault - but the Crown Princess's son denies it. Now Juliane Snekkestad's lawyer wants the police to question Crown Princess Mette-Marit.

- The evidence situation in the case is such that we think it is only natural that we get her explanation now, says lawyer Petter J. Grødem to Aftenposten [article behind paywall].

Marius Borg Høiby has admitted that he abused his last girlfriend and destroyed her apartment on August 4. He has also admitted that he threatened to kill a man.

But he denies that he abused his two former girlfriends, Juliane Snekkestad and Nora Haukland. They both took to social media and accused Marius of physical and mental abuse during the periods they were with Mette-Marit's son.

Juliane and Marius were a couple between 2017 and 2022, they also owned a house together which they sold when the relationship ended.

Marius has made counter-accusations in police interrogation and says that it is Snekkestad who allegedly abused him.

Snekkestad's lawyer has now asked the police to take the Crown Princess in for questioning.

- I have sent a formal request to summon Crown Princess Mette-Marit for questioning to the Oslo police district, Grødem tells Aftenposten.

- An explanation from the Crown Princess will, in my opinion, shed new light on the case against her son.

Oslo police press chief Unni Grøndal confirms to Aftenposten that they have received a request for questioning, but does not want to comment on the matter further.

Crown Princess Mette-Marit is on sick leave until October 30 due to side effects of a medication she is taking for her pulmonary fibrosis.

Translation and editing for clarity by me of an article by Jenny Alexandersson, Royal Editor, for Aftonbladet published on Oct. 28, 2024, at 21:00.

Note: The original article by Aftenposten is behind a paywall. This is a short summary from Aftonbladet about what that article says.

#norwegian royal family #royal reporting #marius borg høiby #crown princess mette marit #aftonbladet #241028 #tw abuse

14 notes · View notes

lady-phenix · 9 months ago

Text

Some more phenix lore!

TW for implied marital abuse.

Phenix is married to Andras, one of the most dangerous beings in the ars goetia (I'm not even joking look him up. The dudes bad news...). In Phenix's Canon, Andras is a warrior and a master of illusion and sensory deprivation magic.

And guess who was the perfect test dummy?

Yeah...

Because of this, Phenix has moments where she seriously questions her reality. Her mind can be her own worst enemy and it's not even her fault or anything she was born with. She often wakes up from what she thinks are nightmares but a lot of the time are actually the illusions coming undone in her sleep, reminding her that her life isn't at all perfect, despite the front she's forced to put up.

Everything is most definitely NOT fine...

#phenix canon #tw: abuse #tw: marital abuse #tw: gaslighting #with extra steps but its still gaslighting

0 notes

dark-konohagakure2 · 4 months ago

Note

INDRA YOU SAY?!?!??!

indra with an arranged marriage, and he is nice at the start, not wanting to scare his pretty darling but then she does smth that pisses him of and then it goes all down hill from there, he turns into a pretty abusive husband, forced breeding, noncon, coercion, ALL OF THAT

SENDING YOU MY LOVE 🫂

tw: noncon, marital noncon, arranged marriage, abuse, breeding, coercion, manipulation, misogyny, power imbalance, jealousy, rough sex

All characters depicted are 18+

Indra isn't very interested in women or dating, much less a commitment like marriage, but the Otsutsuki clan needs two heirs around the same age, and Ashura has recently gotten married himself, so pressure falls onto Indra to find a suitable mate, but unlike Ashura, Indra is yet to find anyone he's interested in, so instead he has a bride chosen for him.

While not in his nature, Indra will at least try to be kind to the woman selected for him, he can't go scaring her away before he even gets a baby or two out of her, so he'll speak to her in soft tones, keeping his distance from her both physically and emotionally, even partaking in small niceties such as pulling her chair out and walking beside her instead of in front of her like he does with most people who are beneath him.

This honeymoon phase doesn't last very long however. Indra isn't incredibly quick to anger, that is unless it involves his idiotic younger brother. So Indra won't take very kindly to his wife talking to his brother so politely, even if its just her trying to be nice to her brother in law. Indra has to restrain himself from dragging her away right then and there, but he can't lash out just yet. He's going to wait until he gets her alone.

The very moment the two of them are alone, he'll drag her back to their shared bedroom, his Sharingan active out of anger. His sudden change in demeanor will come as a shock to his new bride, who is used to her husband being distant, yet stoic and calm, never raising his voice or laying hands on her, but now he's dragging her away while angrily letting her know exactly what she did to evoke his anger.

"You forget yourself, woman! Fraternizing so shamelessly with my own brother?! Don't forget you're only here for one purpose, and fulfill that purpose you shall..."

He's not gentle with her anymore, she's lost that privilege, he'll throw her down onto the bed hard enough to disorient her before getting on top or her, hissing angry words into her ear as he begins to pull down her bottoms, making it clear that he's finally going to force her to make herself useful to both him and the clan.

Indra is not only rough with his words, but with his movements too, thrusting into her unprepared cunt with ruthless abandon. He's disappointed really, he wanted the consummation of their marriage to be special and romantic even, but she just had to go and ruin it. She angered him into this state, she should have known the consequences, she brought this upon herself, or at least that's what Indra will tell her as he's bullying her womb with his cock.

Indra is going to cum inside of her, that fact is obvious given how he's made it clear that this marriage is mainly for reproductive purposes, and as such he's not going to stop after just one orgasm, he's going to cum inside of her as much as possible. Indra isn't one hundred percent human, so he has better stamina than most men, which means he can be fucking her for hours straight and hardly break a sweat, much less grow tired, even as her walls are overflowing and leaking with his cum whilst she begs him to show some mercy to her poor overused pussy.

But alas, all good things must come to an end at some point, but that will only be when Indra it's completely certain that he's impregnated his wifey with at least one child, leaving her cunt leaking and stomach slightly distended from all the seed pumped into her. This session of theirs had two purposes; to get her thoroughly bred, and to assert who's really in charge in this marriage.

"There... You've finally atoned for that bratty behavior of yours, hopefully our children don't inherent your disobedience, because I utterly loathe obstinate children..."

Indra hopes that this lesson was sufficient, because there will be much more just like it in the future. He's not going to coddle or spoil his wife anymore, she lost that privilege the very moment she decided to speak to a man that wasn't him, and now she'll never get to speak to anyone else ever again, at least not until they've had their beautiful children that is.

#naruto #naruto shippuden #boruto #naruto x reader #naruto smut #headcanon #x reader #naruto headcanons #indra #indra otsutsuki #indra x reader #indra smut #uchiha #uchiha x reader #uchiha smut #otsutsuki

365 notes · View notes

luneemeritus · 5 months ago

Text

Guys have I ever commented about how both Youtube and Tiktok have the shittiest takes on Stolas? No? Then I will try to comment more often.

"I wonder why Octavia is mean to Stolas" because she's a teenager who doesn't know the truth about her parents' situation or the abuse her father went throught during 17+ years, that's why.

As Stolas antis are unable to recognize the MOST BASIC aspects of the story, let me just remind everything we know about Stolas and his relationship with his family:

(TW: MARITAL RAPE, DOMESTIC VIOLENCE AND HAVING TO EDUCATE STOLAS ANTIS FOR THE 100TH TIME)

1- emotionally and physically abused by his father

2- forced to marry an abusive person when he was a fucking child

3- raped multiple times by Stella before she got pregnant

4- TEEN FATHER. TEEN. FATHER. You know what a TEEN FATHER means? He was forced to be a father when he. was. A. TEEN.

5- spent 17 years surviving his wife's verbal, emotional and physical abuse FOR HIS DAUGTHER'S SAKE

6- took accountability when he realized his mistakes towards his daughter, and his mistakes were basically trying his best to make his daughter happy while being a literal survivor of parental abuse, domestic violence, SA and social isolation, literally a fucking normal human being trying his best and improving himself

7- is not only teaching her spells slowly and respecting her time, but also raising her as the teenager girl she is, and not as a 'legal adult' full of rich folk bullshit responsabilities as he was raised

"Stolas is a good dad" yes, media illiterate antis, he IS. He raised his daughter with love and care, he shield her from potential dangers (which came from her own mother), took accountability everytime he made a mistake with her, and sacrificed 17+ years in silence, surviving domestic violence, FOR HER. This is what a good parent does; loves, takes accountability and cares for their child, and as someone who has a very shitty dad who actually doesn't respect me or take accountability, I proudly affirm Stolas is doing great. You know what STELLA, an actual terrible parent, does? Abuses her husband in front of their kid and turns Via against her father. This is what a terrible parent does, oh but sorry I forgot she's the cisheteronormative woman who can do no wrong despite doing everything wrong maliciously.

Octavia acting like a teenager is absolutely in-character and justified. She doesn't have to know that her mother is an abuser, and this is why Stolas shield her from this hell, because he wanted her to have a normal fucking life. But the AUDIENCE? Grown adults who KNOW what is happening with Stolas and should understand how basic parenting works, acting like an angry teenager who hates Dada? Now that is just bad faith and urge to justify your hate boner against Stolas with the same stupid outdated arguments that were discussed a thousand times in this fandom.

For a man that was forced to have an abusive wife and a child at his teenage years, yes, he is a good father. He makes normal mistakes like any normal parent does. In LooLoo Land, he (unintentionally) ignored Via's discomfort because he was trying to cheer her up, trying to, as himself said, keep her away from their hostile house — whose hostility is Stella's fault. In Seeing Stars, he DOES NOT ignore Via nor forgot about the promise (he forgot the day, not the promise), he was busy standing up against his ABUSER. He asked for some minutes to finish his phone call, if Via had waited just a little bit longer, he would turn off the phone and listened to her. She didn't, because she's a kid with the trauma of growing up with an abusive mother and a closeted dad, again, in-character and understanding. But grown adults who were supposed to understand what is going on with Stolas having the same behaviour of a kid is hilariously telling a lot about how you react to this show.

Stolas makes the same mistakes Blitzø makes with Loona. Blitzø often infantilizes her to the point of being overprotective, and guess what? He also took accountability, because he, just like Stolas, is a good dad. And just like Lucifer as well. Buuuuut you don't really care about what is or what isnt a good father, you just want to yell about how much you hate Stolas. And the reason why you hate Stolas (at least one of the reasons) is because you can't understand basic shit about him.

Edit: by the way, let me show yall this print. It's so adorable. As irritating as Stolas's "sLaNdErInG" crowd is, the fandom always manage to make everything better. Let's smile more and think about the good things <3

#'stolas slander'? more like media literacy slander #stolas #helluva boss #tw: stolas antis (again)#octavia helluva boss

163 notes · View notes

maddyguru · 6 months ago

Text

tw: non con, dark content, virgin reader (was lol), Minors do not interact

reader who's an innocent lady sheltered from city life who also unaware of miminana's abuse and a monkey who was caught in a crossfire when suguru slaughtered the villagers and found her; helpless and clueless as to what happened and raped her instead. Her legs were pushed apart from each other amidst her useless screams and Suguru had opened his belt to fuck a stupid girl such as herself.

When he figured out how tight she was just from the tip, he realised she really was stupid girl with no experience and no knowledge of even marital life; she was a virgin, he concluded as he kept thrusting and ignoring her screams.

#tw.dark content #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #angst #tw.noncon #geto suguru x y/n #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader

122 notes · View notes

auspicioustidings · 9 months ago

Text

Flinch

Summary: You thought you would die trying the day you tried to escape your abusive husband, but destiny has other plans. Words: 5.2k TWs: domestic abuse, rape

(I read this book months ago, forgot all about it and today it burrowed into my head again and I assume caused this so if you wanna read a good version of this concept I'd recommend it!)

You would die trying today. You had to.

The 20 week scan had been yesterday and while your husband was away on a work trip he would return this evening. You knew your bodyguard had already told him that the baby inside you was a girl. He did not want a girl. You shook at the memory of when he left 3 days ago.

He had taken you on your hands and knees, no less cruel in how he did it than before you were pregnant, and told you about how his son would be his legacy. His hot, wet breath had been in your ear as he spilled inside of you. You’d better give me a son, wife. If you misbehave and grow a female I’ll need to fuck myself into your womb to get rid of the little slut and try again.

The baby had saved you the most severe beatings the last 4 months, but your husband found other ways to torture you. You could barely even look at your guard anymore knowing that he had been witness to the week your husband had made you spend in an open room penned in by glass. It had been a luxurious prison cell where everybody could see your every move, the bathroom facilities not hidden from view at all and your body on full display. He said it was so they could make sure you were healthy and happy during your pregnancy and then he had fucked your arse in front of his men and smacked you hard across the cheek when he was finished for being such a cry baby.

He would certainly beat you black and blue for failing to bear him a son. But you didn’t really care about that, you had agreed to be his wife 6 years ago when you were 17 and thought he had hung the stars. But this baby who at first you had hated you had come to love. He would kill her. He would kill any of her sisters after her. You could take any punishment he gave you, maybe you’d get lucky and he’d finally kill you, but your daughter deserved a chance to live.

So you would do something you had not done since your 3rd attempt 5 years ago had ended with broken ribs, a broken nose and a concussion that had made you dizzy and sick for months after. You were going to try and leave.

It would be difficult. Your guard was loyal to your husband and never flinched at his treatment of you, so you did not expect help from him. Your left leg hadn’t quite healed right after it had been hurt a few weeks ago during a particularly rough fulfilment of your marital duties so you couldn’t put weight on it very well.

Plus you knew you were ugly now. Your eyes had sunken in and were smudged underneath with purple from too many sleepless nights. One side of your face was mottled with bruises. The rest of your body was too thin but for your protruding stomach and covered in marks. You remembered your father yelling at you about beauty being the only thing women were worth when you were a child. Your parents had been happy when you got engaged to such a wealthy man and you had not heard from them since the day they handed you over. You had been pretty then. You wondered how disgusted your father would be with how you looked now. He certainly wouldn’t help you in such a state.

There wasn’t much time. Your guard was stuck to your side but for one hour in the afternoon where you were expected to thoroughly clean yourself and prepare yourself for your husband's return. The rules of that never changed regardless of your condition. You would spend the hour making yourself perfect, your holes clean and ready, your skin soft and fragrant, your hair braided how he liked it and a thin nightgown perfectly draping on your body. If he found fault with you then you could expect a great deal of pain before he brought in his men to redo the whole process. It was not pleasant when they did it.

The fear made your mouth dry. Not only would you be punished for trying to escape, but you would be found lacking in your appearance and preparation and that would carry its own punishment. You could not do this.

A kick from your daughter argued that you could and it spurred you into action. This was it, your last chance to save her.

–

“I’m gaggin’ for a pint.”

Ghost snorted a laugh.

“You’re always gagging for something Johnny” he quipped, Gaz elbowing Soap teasingly while Price just rolled his eyes from behind the wheel.

“You’ll behave back there. This truck has a no gagging on anything rule in place. Bunch of bloody moppets” he barked.

The Captain was mostly just glad to be heading back home. Some therapist would have a field day with him considering home to be a small off-the-record safe house on the edges of a tiny fishing village, but then he was sure they would quit long before he had gotten to that part with the amount of shite he had been through.

His team had their own flats dotted around the UK, but they seemed to prefer to spend most of their down time together in the safe house. Maybe one day they would all admit that the safe house was just their actual house now, but it was unlikely to be anytime soon. It was still spartan after all, looking drab from the outside and as regimented and dull as any other military base on the inside. Not really homey. Garrick had sincerely attempted to start a little vegetable garden last year but it had been a resounding failure, meaning the little cottage was surrounded by weeds that choked the path. At this point the locals probably thought it was haunted.

It was still a long way off. Two more hours to base where they could switch out the army issued truck for his own modern and well kept pick up and MacTavish’s frankly ridiculous little hatchback that should really not be able to handle the country roads leading to the safe house but was somehow still kicking. He swore he was some sort of car witch.

“Don’t worry Captain, I’m too classy to have a gag reflex!” Gaz shouted over to him with Soap snickering in the background.

“That right? Lieutenant.”

Price laughed at the carnage happening in the back of the truck as Ghost pounced on Gaz and tried to shove fingers down his throat to get him to gag while Soap took Gaz’s side as he almost always did when it came to a fight with Ghost and tried to fight him off. The rough housing in the back at least kept them occupied for a little bit while Price lit up a cigar.

He wasn’t paying as much attention to the road as he ought to, but then this stretch of road was almost always empty. They were more or less in the middle of nowhere, the nearest civilisation being some fancy gated community out past the right side of the forest this road cut through.

Only 5 hours to go now and at least 3 of those would be done in his much more comfortable truck with climate control and not this tin can.

Ghost chuckled as Johnny grabbed at Gaz’s top, trying to pull him back into the truck as Ghost was shoving him out. Poor Gaz’s top half was dangling precariously out the back and he could barely breathe through the wheezing laughter. Ghost was someone with fast instincts, so he felt Gaz tense and was immediately on guard even before the man yelled out and started scrambling to launch himself out of the back of the truck and onto the road before Price had a chance to properly stop the thing.

“Stop the truck!”

“Bloody hell, Garrick get your arse back in here!” Price yelled and cursed as he brought the truck to a stop a little ahead of where Gaz had jumped out.

Ghost had a hand locked around Soap’s nape, the Lieutenant knowing if he didn’t keep the man grounded he would be out of this truck and by Gaz’s side without even stopping to check for danger. Price trusted him enough that he stayed put, watching the two of them who were watching out the back to see what Garrick did.

–

There was a man on the road. You were so sore and so tired, your adrenaline nearly exhausted. You had gotten so close, the road was right there. But he was one of your husband's you thought. Not one you recognised, but the casual clothes with military gear was just like your guards.

The choice now was how hard to fight. It hardly felt like you could fight anymore, but somewhere in the woods you had made the decision that you were not going back. Better you die with your daughter than allow her to die alone. You hoped this man was ruthless and efficient about it, that he made this quick. You had to make sure he killed you. You were not going back.

“Hey, it’s ok, I’m not going to hurt you. My name’s Kyle and I can help. Are you hurt?”

He sounded painfully kind and that felt unfair. It had been so long since you had been afforded kindness, why now? Maybe this was your last meal.

“I- I won’t go back” you said, screwing up your courage and trying to stand as straight and strong as you could with the exhaustion and pain blanketing your body.

The man slowly moved one hand to take off his cap while the other was stretched open in front of him. He was showing you he wasn’t armed you thought as his cap was put on the ground and he raised his other hand to show it was also empty and crouched a little lower than his full height.

“Ok, I’m not going to make you go back anywhere. I just want to help” he said, gentle.

Throughout the years you had learned not to trust. When you were 10 and your mother had promised you a birthday party but then spent the money on a night out to the pub for her and your father instead. When you got your first period and you asked your father what you should do but he just smacked you for telling him something so disgusting. When your husband promised he would be gentle on your wedding night and it wouldn’t hurt, but he broke both promises. When a maid promised to help you escape but instead told your guard your plan. Your husband had fucked her in front of you while you were laying unable to move from the beating. You had never seen him be so gentle.

You so wanted to trust someone and not have it backfire. Just once. Just enough to give you some hope that your daughter could have a good life with people who would look out for her. But when he shuffled a little closer you flinched and stepped back. It was too hard to try and trust him.

The movement put you more in the dappled early evening sunlight. It would be dark soon.

–

Kyle fought to keep himself relaxed even when the light revealed what he had missed before. The scared woman in front of him was pregnant. Couldn’t have been very far along with how small she was. Her face was a mess of bruises. He wanted to hunt down whatever useless piece of shit had done this to her.

But he had to stay calm for her sake. He couldn’t start demanding information when he hadn't even managed to get close enough to examine her. He needed to get her far away from the danger first, get her medical attention and then get justice once she was happy and healthy and safe.

It also needed to be quick. This was a woman who was running, so it stood to reason there was somebody chasing. But how did he convince her to get into a truck with a bunch of armed strangers?

She startled, looking like she had seen… ah fuck, Ghost had hopped out of the truck and walked over.

“You know how to use a gun?” he asked her, almost casual despite the grit behind it.

She shook her head and her eyes widened as Ghost lifted his sidearm into his hands. Kyle thought perhaps his Lieutenant had lost his damn mind when he started calmly explaining the basics of the gun before stepping forward, putting it on the ground and stepping back again.

“Sergeant, back up” he ordered and Kyle reluctantly took a few steps back. “You need help and we can give it. You pick up that gun, get in the truck and if any of us touches you without your permission you point and shoot. We’re about two hours out from a military base, there’s a doctor there who can check you over, make sure the baby is ok.”

Maybe Ghost was a genius or maybe he was a maniac, but then it wasn’t the first time he had flirted with that line. Kyle watched the woman hesitantly move forward. She reminded him of a little mouse approaching a piece of cheese. When she got close enough she darted suddenly and grabbed the gun, holding it up to them. Her arms were shaking.

He was used to the sounds of a bullet firing by now, but he still felt himself jump when she fired out into the woods on the other side of them.

“Y-you actually gave me a loaded gun?” she said breathlessly, seeming almost outraged that Ghost would truly do such a thing. Kyle sympathised.

“You feel better?” Ghost answered, nodding his head to the truck where Soap was watching with rapt attention.

“...yes” the woman said before walking (although he noted it was more limping) over to the truck and letting Ghost help her in only after trying herself and realising she wouldn’t be able to hop up and keep ahold of the gun at the same time.

–

The man in the skull mask didn’t ask any questions and he seemed entirely nonplussed about the gun pointed at him as the eerily silent truck took off. The other two in the back seemed nervous and the man driving hadn’t interacted with you at all, instead keeping his attention on the road.

Skull mask made a call and his voice sounded like a shout with how quiet it was.

“I need you at Stirling Lines in 2 hours… yeah, needs to be you for this… send me the standard form and I’ll get the answers over to you… she doesn’t need delicate from me, she needs help… thanks for this, see you then.”

The one that shared a bench on your side with the mohawk looked increasingly alarmed at the conversation.

“LT…” he started, some worried warning in his tone.

The LT ignored him, looked at his phone and then looked up to you after seemingly finding what he was looking for.

“Name, gender and birth date?”

“I… what?”

“Jesus Christ LT!”

“I need to get information for the nurse I have meeting us at base” the LT said, ignoring the mohawk man’s outrage and staring at you with those unsettling eyes sunken behind the mask. “The questions are going to be invasive. The exam is going to be worse and it’s going to take hours.”

“That’s enough Lieutenant” the man driving hissed, only to be equally as ignored as the Lieutenant's eyes stayed on you.

“Get through it. Get through it to spite the bastard.”

You felt a flutter of panic try to take hold. Your adrenaline was gone so it was hard to even feel that, but he thought… they all thought you had been raped.

“It’s not… I’m married” you said by way of explanation.

The atmosphere was tense, but after you said that there was a distinct feeling of sadness coming from mohawk and Kyle, a feeling of pity. The skull mask had no such pity emanating from him.

“He told you that because you’re married you couldn’t say no. Reinforced that. It’s brainwashing and you can break that. It wasn’t marriage they used as a reason for me, but they tried to brainwash me to think I consented to it just the same. I didn’t and neither did you. Spite the bastard.”

Nobody else spoke for the next 2 hours but you and the man in the skullmask. He asked questions and you answered them. At the start you took time to answer, hesitant from the humiliation coursing through you and making you feel sick. An hour in and you had no emotions left to give, only cold answers that floated through the truck and hung in the air like the twisted body of the saviour had hung on your bedroom wall, watching and judging.

By the time the truck was pulling through to a base you felt rinsed of everything, numb. The only shred of warmth came from the hand holding yours and you could not remember exactly when the man with the mohawk had put it there.

–

“Simon…”

“It’s not like you hadn’t read my file sir.”

Price had read his file. He knew what Roba had done to this man. It didn’t make it any less jarring to hear his Lieutenant say it out loud in the back of a damn truck with a strange beaten woman and his two Sergeants who until now had no real idea of his past.

“You solid?” he asked, not wanting to push him to talk about anything he didn’t want to.

“I’m angry.”

He knew that from Simon’s record too. It had taken a while for him to be cleared after Roba because he was so angry all the time, his aggression too volatile for even the military. This whole situation was bringing up old wounds in his Lieutenant and he was lost with what to do about it.

“Lieutenant Riley” came a call from the nurse finally leaving the exam room. She had an American accent, Southern. He suspected she was probably the one who saw Simon after Roba considering that had been in Texas.

“Appreciate you coming on short notice” Simon replied with a nod of thanks.

“Consider it payback for getting me my visa. No point in mincing words, it’s bad.”

“Consider it a matter of national security” Price said.

Technically he shouldn’t be told anything about the state of the woman in that exam room without her consent, but then it would not be the first time he got around GDPR citing national security. The nurse was clearly versed in how the military worked and handed over the clipboard she was holding. Simon read along with him over his shoulder.

“Bleeding Christ. She’s 21 weeks?” he asked, shocked.

“Long term malnutrition. She wasn’t given any control over her food. They gave her enough to keep her alive, but nowhere near healthy.”

“This…” Simon started, looking at the results from the x-rays.

“Consistent with prolonged torture. Some of the breaks never healed right. She’s still healing from a fracture and some ligament tearing in the left leg, a few broken ribs and a crack in her orbital bone. She said he had been more careful with her since finding out she was pregnant.”

Price swore loudly. He saw plenty of civilian casualties. He had caused the deaths of innocent people in the pursuit of saving other innocents. He was no stranger to evil. But this wasn’t a terrorist attack. It wasn’t a hostage in a facility. The woman was just an ordinary person who was being tortured for no large cause, not for the advancement of some twisted doctrine. She was being tortured for the crime of being a wife.

“Can you keep it off record?”

He was a bit taken aback that Simon was asking that. Surely they wanted this on record? But then he followed that action to its conclusion. They found her near a community that very rich people lived in, it followed that this husband had money to spare. They would know she was missing by now and they would know the radius of where she could have reached by car or train.

The second she was admitted to a hospital as a malnourished and beaten pregnant woman she would go missing. He wouldn’t trust the police as far as he could throw them to protect a domestic abuse victim when the perpetrator was rich and powerful enough to track her down and pay them off. The military wasn’t any better. Hell he knew of monsters in his own department who would insist on taking her for a spin before handing her over.

“I’ll talk with her” he said, Simon giving him a grateful nod.

Somehow he needed to convince that woman that she was coming to the safehouse with them until they could deal with her husband along with every single one of his accomplices. They wouldn’t make it to prison.

–

You wanted so badly to sleep but the alarm in your head wouldn’t let you. You couldn’t possibly be safe. You were never safe.

The nurse had been kind in her examination. She said this was specifically what she was trained for, that you were not alone. Others had been through this and survived. Others had went on to have brilliant and bright lives while their attackers had turned into insignificant, small creatures in their memories. You still found it hard to think of your husband as your attacker. All you had known growing up was that the man of the household owned the women in it and it was his prerogative how he handled them.

You hadn’t been allowed to shower first even though you wanted to. It was strange to think that it was deemed lucky that you weren’t permitted to shower outside of your hour preparation time and that you hadn’t been given that hour since your husband had last used you for his pleasure. He knew you desperately hated having to lay with his spend inside of you. You had begged your guard to let you clean up properly before getting your ultrasound, but he had only smiled as he said no. Of course he had. He was well versed in experiencing your humiliation and your husband was well versed in creating situations for him to do so.

It was painful when she had examined you internally. She told you that it shouldn’t be, that you associated penetration with pain now so your body was seizing up making the speculum feel much worse than it normally would. She apologised, said that was something that wouldn’t happen forever once you got healthier and knew you were safe. You could hardly believe it when she told you sex wasn’t supposed to hurt for women.

You hadn’t thought you were capable of it after today, but you still cried when she did the ultrasound. There she was, still alive and well. You wanted to tell her it would be ok now, that you had done it, you had gotten away and she would be safe. But it didn’t seem real.

The exam had taken such a long time. Your clothes had been taken from you and the thin gown did nothing to make you feel less exposed. She wanted to take the bank notes stuffed into your pocket as well, promising that they would be replaced, but you had begged to keep them and she had let you. The MRI wasn’t mentioned when the nurse had first explained everything, but part way through she had asked if it would be ok for one to be taken. She made sure that you didn’t have to interact with anyone else but her which calmed you a little.

Now you were alone. She told you that she would let you gather your thoughts and then a shower and clothes could be organised.

You needed to figure out your next move. £410 wasn’t a lot of money, but it would have to be enough to get your daughter somewhere safe. You could work. Your last job had been as a waitress when you were a teenager, but you were good at cooking and cleaning and willing to learn just about anything so you were determined you would find something. You didn’t have much choice.

There was a knock at the door and you told them to come in. Your voice sounded awful, scratchy and hoarse.

It was not the nurse.

The man from the front of the car didn’t look at you unkindly, but it did not stop you from flinching as he stepped towards you. You wished you hadn’t let Kyle take the gun from you when you arrived.

He immediately stopped and showed his hands just like Kyle had on the road.

“My name is Captain John Price, the men in the truck are my team. You’ve been brave today and I know it’s been hard. I can get you a shower and some hot food, how does that sound?”

You felt yourself shrivel and shrink. A shower with him. You hated being in a shower with your husband, he always forced you to your knees. Whenever he gave you a chance to breathe it was only under the high pressure spray of the water and it made you feel like you were suffocating. He liked that.

Could you get on your knees for this man? If it was for your daughter, if it kept her safe, then yes. It wasn’t so bad was it? You had survived worse. It was just your mouth.

You stood shakily and nodded, eyes fixed on the ground as you picked up the bank notes on the side table and held them tightly in your hand.

“Where did that come from?”

“I…” you started, taking a moment to try and think of a lie before giving in to the mental exhaustion and just telling the truth. “I stole it from my guard’s wallet.”

“Atta girl.”

The praise made your ears feel hot. You had half expected to be arrested on the spot, but the man, Captain John Price, just started leading you out of the room and down the hall to the showers.

“Soap, that’s the moppet with the mohawk from the truck, volunteered some of his things. He’s a bit of a peacock, so there should be everything you need. It’s a communal shower but I’ll stand guard at the door for you so nobody will come in. You can lock the door, but if I knock I need you to answer so I can confirm you’re ok. Towels are here, clothes here. We don’t have anything for maternity so we’ve guessed on what size will fit.”

You were taken aback. He wasn’t going to be in here with you. You didn’t need to service him. Your grip tightened around the cash in your hand before loosening as you looked at it.

“Don’t even think about it. You don’t owe anyone here a damn thing. Go shower.”

With that he left. You locked the door and waited for 10 minutes to see if he would unlock it from the other side and come in. He only knocked once and when you responded that you were fine he was silent again.

Satisfied that at least you didn’t think he would come in you stripped off and finally had a shower. The hair products and shower gel left by Soap (you thought that was a funny coincidence) smelled nice, like pine and maybe a hint of something sweet. Your husband only ever let you use things with a heavy smell of roses.

The nurse had asked what you meant by preparing yourself when you mentioned that you hadn’t done so and escaped instead. She told you that you didn’t need to do that here, but then there wasn’t any of the equipment you were used to anyway. It felt luxurious in a way, to clean yourself just for yourself.

The next time Captain Price knocked and you confirmed that you were ok, he kept speaking with you.

“I would like you to come with me and my team. We are heading to a safehouse a few hours from here and it’ll be the safest place for you to recover. You would have your own room with a lock on the door.”

You were glad nobody could see the way your face screwed up in some grotesque mixture of fear, confusion and, worst of all, hope.

“I… have money. I can pay rent.”

“...ok.”

He sounded somewhat reluctant to accept that but you couldn’t not pay for this. You would constantly be waiting for one of them to collect in some other way if you didn’t give them cash.

You touched your stomach, silently asking your daughter if it was ok to trust this man. She gave a kick.

–

Johnny didn’t think he had ever seen anyone so fragile. She had fought it Price had said, but eventually their new housemate had fallen into an exhausted sleep in the passenger seat of his truck.

When they arrived it had been him who bundled her in his arms and carried her to bed. God she was so small for someone who was supposed to be halfway through a pregnancy.

He had watched her since Gaz had jumped out of that truck. She had flinched then, she had flinched when Si got out of the truck, she had flinched when Price had went into the room (he probably shouldn’t have been hiding out in the hallway watching through the open door, but he just couldn’t stop himself).

She hadn’t flinched at all when he threaded his fingers through hers in the truck. Her hand was so tiny. Too tiny, much like the rest of her.

He put her to bed in his room since the spare was a bit of a wreck and he bunked with Gaz. They could sort it all out tomorrow after he had gotten her a massive breakfast. He was shite at cooking anything but a greasy fry up but he wanted only the best for her, so he’d already fired off a message to the girl who owned the best cafe in town and asked for a priority breakfast delivery that he was going to be paying a fortune for since it was last minute and out of the ordinary.

He didn’t know this woman, but he knew intrinsically that he would.

–

You dreamt sweet dreams. A cottage made cosy. Cooking whatever meals you wanted with ingredients you grew yourself in the garden outside. The gentle pleasure of careful hands and tongues, opening you up to a new world you never thought existed, one where your pleasure was first and foremost and the press of a body into yours didn’t hurt. The give beneath your fingers when you touched your own body, fat and soft rolls that reminded you of how safe you felt, how happy and healthy you were.

And a little girl running towards a returning hero, being swept up and laughing delightedly about it.

Best of all in that wonderful dream, you didn’t flinch once.

#mhairiwrites #tf 141 x reader #well well well #look who has dissociated and written something jumbled and nonsensical in one go #I am once again asking my brain to do this with the series I am trying to finish instead of with a random completely different concept

269 notes · View notes

ooihcnoiwlerh · 11 months ago

Text

so...I have a new chapter of my Feyd-Rauta/Reader fanfic up and ready.

AO3 link: And I Don't Want Your Heart - Chapter 4 - ooihcnoiwlerh - Dune (2021) [Archive of Our Own]

I also have it below the cut. It does require some content warning/TW and is NSFW/not safe for minors.

CW: arranged marriage, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, dubious consent, implied/referenced self-harm, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced sexual abuse, implied/referenced incest, rough sex, blood and pain kinks, graphic depictions of violence

Chapter below the cut:

You wake up the next morning to the sound of the timepiece on your nightstand.

Idrisa had assumed correctly when she told you that just a half-tablet would help both with the pain and with getting to sleep later. For half an hour afterwards, you sat in the bath, staring at the opposite wall and hoping the warm water would add to your relief. Five minutes was all it took to start feeling better, your torn muscles relaxing, and half an hour to start feeling drowsy.

It took some effort, but you managed to get out, drain the tub, and clean your teeth before settling into bed, thinking about how this will be your nightly routine at least until you’re carrying his child. Who knows? You might be already.

You’re sipping from the water still left on your nightstand when Idrisa comes in with a tray carrying a couple of mugs. Over the past few days Idrisa’s learned that you like a bit of caffeine first thing in the morning but you’re not sure what the other mug’s for as she sets the tray down on the desk and hands you one. You sniff at the contents; it smells savory.

“It’s bone broth for you, Na-Baroness,” she explains. “I thought it might be nice. It’s not medication but it has healing properties of its own.”

Bones of what, exactly? you think as you accept the mug. “Thank you.”

“How are you feeling?” she asks, trying to keep her tone light, avoiding the direct question.

“Sore,” you admit after taking your first sip, and it tastes quite nice. “But what you gave me last night helped.” You expected your womanhood to throb, but there’s also a persistent ache in your legs, your hips, the undefined muscles in your abdomen.

“You still have more for tonight,” she says, “just in case.”

“I wish I didn’t have to,” you tell her. She looks away before trying to figure out what she could possibly say to that.

“I can’t help you with that part,” is what she comes up with. “But I can assist with almost everything else.” She turns to your closets and rifles through, picking out a few items for you to choose from. Over her shoulder she tells you, “You’ll be expected at breakfast in an hour. It shouldn’t take too long to get you freshened up.”

One of the few things you quite like about the Harkonnen Fortress is the emphasis on good hygiene. Of course, you have extra features to maintain that the rest of the Fortress doesn’t, but you brought the supplies and ointments needed for that and you know where to have more imported when you run out.

When it comes time to dress you decide on a combination of your own clothing and Harkonnen that doesn’t clash. A bit of a symbolic union of the Houses. You can’t help but think that people will have certain ideas of you today as a newly married woman who had, as clear as day to everyone, fulfilled all the marital duties expected of her last night. Your walk isn’t quite as stiff as last night, though, and if you just walk a little slower then your discomfort won’t seem obvious to anyone not looking for it.

Of course, everyone at breakfast will be looking for it; your family out of concern, your new husband and in-laws presumably out of amusement. It’s all you can really think about as you leave your chambers and descend for the Dining Hall. That and the look on your new husband’s face as he’ll undoubtedly want to assess the damage.

You manage a smile as Idrisa announces your entrance. There’s an open seat next to Feyd-Rautha that’s clearly meant for you and you take into account that your family has only just arrived and everyone’s watching you. Everyone but the Baron stands in respect as you keep your polite smile, the one that projects that nothing could bother you, and you greet the table.

To his credit, Feyd still displays the kind of chivalry your father would expect when in his presence. He stays standing when everyone else sits down so he can pull your seat out for you. The kindness of the gesture’s somewhat undermined by the look in his eye, gauging every movement, every minute detail, and it makes you feel naked again under his shark-like gaze.

You don’t look him in the eye as you sit down, nor when he pushes your chair in and takes his seat beside you, nor when you quietly thank him. You know he’s still watching you, wondering how effectively he’s broken you in already, like a pair of combat boots.

The table is laid with everything you could need as far as drinks, but as a courtesy it’s not until you sit down that food arrives, delivered on massive platters by slave girls in billowy white garb and whose biceps strain under the weight of each tray. You’re sure that the Baron’s patience is a pretense that he’s upholding to appear polite towards your family, not one that will continue after breakfast, especially when you see his enthusiasm when he digs in with the appetite of multiple men.

The food itself takes up most of his attention, but he does discuss trade routes with your father, who seems subdued and withdrawn. Father maintains his end of the conversation but doesn’t offer more and barely touches his food–the latter you can assume is because he’s put off by seeing the Baron eat, and you don’t blame him. Even with the bone broth from earlier you’re pretty sure you’d have more of an appetite if you didn’t have to sit close to someone who inhales nearly half of a spread meant for eight people.

You break away from that thought when Feyd-Rautha says, “Oh, so you don’t need to head back to Arrakis so soon,” and you follow his gaze to the entranceway.

Rabban trudges in, nose heavily bruised and in a splint. He nods in acknowledgement to your family, offering a brief salutation before taking his seat. He doesn’t respond to his brother, but quickly accepts a small glass of what you can only assume is whatever he was drinking last night. He pours it into a mug that he tops with coffee.

“I leave in the afternoon,” he says, addressing his uncle instead. “The spice is abundant.”

As they briefly discuss spice production on Arrakis, you shift in your seat. Sitting down, you’d quickly realized, is also uncomfortable, and you’re glad for your brother-in-law’s entrance causing a diversion.

It doesn’t last long, though. The Baron says, “It’s lovely that we get to reconvene again after such a fruitful wedding.”

Fruitful . You can’t help your blush and you’re sure everyone notices. You wonder if they’re all thinking the same thing and as the meal stretches on, the longer the worry of it eats at you.

It all goes understood, and for you it’s excruciatingly awkward, and everyone senses it, but no one mentions it. Rabban certainly wants to; you can feel it whenever he sneaks glances at you, and you’re certain it’s on the tip of his tongue as he looks at you. You don’t think he’s really lusting after you, though. He just happens to covet his sibling’s shiny new toy. It’s more than a little immature, given that he has nearly twenty years on Feyd-Rautha, and had come of age by the time his brother was born, but you think you can understand. You may love your siblings and they may love you too, but that’s not how the Harkonnens work. For them, siblings are a safety measure just in case the first one dies. They’re taught to fight one another for the approval of their parents–or in this case, their uncle–and are stripped of any sentimentality lest they become weak.

Oh, Great Mother. What does that mean when you do finally have a child? You’ll likely be expected to have more than one even if one is all you need to appease the Bene Gesserit.

You take a sip of water and avoid Rabban’s gaze. He probably would’ve been amused to see how slowly and gingerly you were walking earlier, maybe he would’ve bit down on a cutting remark on how you’d be a lot sorer if he’d been your groom.

Oh, Rabban definitely wants to taunt you over what you all know transpired last night, but he won’t. He can sense the power shifting within the family and if he wasn’t aware that his younger brother was their uncle’s favorite before, he certainly knows now and knows why. He probably just wants to go back to Arrakis where he has unquestioned power.

The Baron is once again the one who actually comes close to mentioning it. “With such a distinct change in environment I’m sure you’ll want to relax, especially once you’re with child,” he says. “We have an excellent system for that, some well-trained attendants as well who can provide things like massage, special baths. We can keep you comfortable.”

After last night, the concept seems nice, but you’ll go out of your mind with boredom if that’s all you have to look forward to. You want to know as much as possible about the planet you’re inhabiting and the family you’ve married into, no matter how gruesome the details. You doubt the Baron or your new husband probably had thought about that, and had just assumed you’d be content as a human incubator for the next nine months.

“That is a wonderful offer and one I’d be interested in another day, perhaps, but I was actually wondering where you kept your library? Maybe a room of archives?” you ask. “I’ve had some education about the history of the Harkonnen line and some of the infrastructure of Geidi Prime, but I’m interested in learning more.”

The Baron considers your interest in his people and his planet versus your dismissal of his original suggestion before saying, “We have a very fine library, young Y/N, and within it a room of records. Your attendant will know where it is and can accompany you whenever you like.”

“I can take her, uncle,” Feyd-Rautha says immediately. “I can give her a proper tour.”

I know you can take and give a lot with your new little pet , you can practically hear the Baron think.

“If you prefer,” he says instead. “We still need to discuss your birthday. It’s only a few weeks away.”

Right. Another gladiatorial “match.” The one in which you’re to paint your new husband’s–-admittedly chiseled–-torso beforehand.

“We have time for that,” Feyd says. “But I’d also like to show my bride the other parts of our Fortress, starting with the library.” He manages to keep his tone casual, but you can tell his rebuttal irritates the Baron. It’s almost comical, his surprise and annoyance that his nephew would want to spend any time with his wife other than the compulsory impregnation.

“Very well,” the Baron says. “You can show her the library after our guests have left.”

They’re already packed up, as it turns out. Worried about leaving you alone but eager to get back home, and perhaps ever so slightly assuaged by the fact that your new husband has some sense of decorum and that you seem intact. Not your virginity, of course, but everything else.

You excuse yourself to use the bathrooms, a sort of salon with individual cubicles and sinks but a larger sitting area with vanities and larger mirrors. You tilt your head at it, curious, because it implies that there are women of leisure on Geidi Prime, but there aren’t many that you’ve seen. A single girl stands near the entrance and gives a small bow as you enter.

You also don’t expect to see your mother when you leave your cubicle and head for the sinks to wash your hands.

She stands in the middle of the room, looking like she wants badly to speak but not sure what to say. You give her a small smile as you wash up. The girl’s quick to hand you a towel and patient to wait until you’re done drying your hands before accepting it back without a word.

They truly have people for everything , you think, looking after her as she scurries back to her post and drops the towel in a hamper before you can so much as thank her. You and your mother look back at each other.

“Father looks miserable,” you say, trying to keep your tone light.

“Your father has a hangover,” Mother says.

“He didn’t seem drunk when I left,” you say, leaning one hand against the counter.

“He wasn’t,” Mother says. “He got drunk after you and your…husband…left for the evening.”

She doesn’t need to elaborate. You open your mouth, exasperated, wishing you could explain how it feels to have everyone act as though you’ve been handed a death sentence that they put you up to. She takes your hands without a word and nods towards the salon.

“How are you feeling, really?” she asks once you’ve acquiesced and you’re seated across from each other.

“All things considered, fine,” you tell her. She doesn’t look convinced. “Mother, I…” you try to articulate it. “I can’t say that I’m happy about this arrangement, but I’m going to have to live with it for years to come. If I act as though my life is over then it is.”

She looks down and runs her thumb over the top of your hand. “I kept preparing you for something like this hoping it wouldn’t happen,” she says.

“Well then, you did exactly right,” you tell her with a small smile that feels fake but one that she returns, however briefly. She sighs and looks down. “I’m grateful that you’re worried, and trust me, I am, too. But it would help more if you believed that I can survive this.”

Mother leans forward, eyes widening in hurt. “Your father and I wouldn’t have let you near that man if we didn’t think you’d survive,” she says. “The Bene Gesserit gave us their word that you will, and it’s the reason we’re here right now.”

You furrow your brow. Mother hesitates, glancing at the girl in her gauzy white dress, who remains standing and silent, not acknowledging your conversation. Mother needn’t worry; the Baron would never bother listening to a slave speak even if she had something to offer. When the girl doesn’t indicate that she’s heard anything, Mother continues.

“When the Reverend Mother spoke to us, she assured us that as brutal as he is, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen won’t defy Bene Gesserit orders to make sure you’re safe to have and raise his child. She also said that he has an ingrained sense of honor and loyalty to the Harkonnen line. He’ll ensure your survival and your children’s survival.” And even if survival is the best you can expect right now, you can still count on that.

....................................................

The Na-Baron accompanies you when you see your parents off; neither his uncle nor his brother does the same. He offers you his arm and you could almost laugh at the formality of it, his entire behavior towards you when you’re both fully dressed juxtaposed against last night. He can play the perfect gentleman all he likes, but you won’t forget how he pressed you onto your stomach and fucked you ruthlessly. Still, you take his arm, appearing as his poised and docile new wife. He offers his final respects to your father but otherwise stands back at a distance, watching in silence as you hug everyone one last time. You wonder if he’s ever hugged anyone a day in his life.

He still stands, waiting, when they board their ship, when it takes off. He watches you watch until their vessel is no more than a pinpoint in the sky before he approaches you, arm extended again. “Shall we?” he asks.

You’re still trying to accept that it’ll be a long time before you see your family again, your correspondence with them likely to consist only of letters, and he’s probably waiting for you to speak when you have nothing to say to him. He doesn’t understand what you’re feeling and you doubt he cares to try. You just take his arm and he leads you to the Fortress library in silence.

“I hope you slept well,” he says finally.

“I did,” you tell him. “Although Idrisa had to give me a mild sedative to do so.”

You glance over at him and think that another man would feel guilt over hurting his new bride, but of course you’re stuck–for now–with this one, who keeps his expression neutral but who you can already see in his eyes both that he’s satisfied that he caused you pain and that he doesn’t care what methods you used to relieve it. At best, he’s indifferent to your pain given that you seem fine now.

“Good, because I’ll want you in my chambers tonight after dinner. Same procedure as last night. Your girl will collect you when it’s time.”

“Alright,” you say, and he waits for just a moment before you realize what he wants and add, “ husband .”

He glances sideways at you, as if to say, Good. You’re learning. Don’t get too confident, though. What he says, though, as you reach a set of double doors, is, “Everything and everyone here is at your disposal.” Just as you are at mine .

When he opens the doors and you get your first look, you can’t help but be impressed. Your impression of Geidi Prime was that it was hardly a planet of scholars, but the library is immense.

Feyd-Rautha notes your surprise. Not that he says anything, but you doubt he’s flattered by it. A librarian’s quick to appear at your side, head bowed, and Feyd snaps his fingers in his direction before gesturing forward. “Come with us,” he says, and gives a rudimentary tour of the layout, showing you the Archives room and different wings. It’s even more expansive than you’d realized, and you’re grateful for it. You’ve got your work cut out for you, you think as you see the impossibly high walls lined with shelves up to the vaulted ceilings.

How many of these have you read? you want to ask him but refrain as the tour ends.

“Make sure the Na-Baroness has everything she needs,” he says to the librarian. He doesn’t look at him as he speaks, though. He looks directly at you, then beckons you forward with a simple curl of his hand. When you come forward he cups your cheek in that same hand, and his kiss is neither chaste nor passionate; it’s a simple statement that he’s claimed you. He’s marking his territory.

“See you at dinner,” he says once he lets you go.

............................................

You know what you want to read up on first.

There’ve always been rumors about the depravity of the House of Harkonnen. You’d heard a few of them regurgitated over the years. Some of them, like cannibalism, you’re reasonably certain aren’t true, but there are others you can’t dismiss.

Father implied once that the Baron’s voracious appetite for food was the least repulsive of his desires. You’d been too young at the time to understand what he was saying, nor were they for your ears as you’d been listening in, unnoticed, but you can’t help but think about Father’s disgusted tone, because you certainly know what he’d been implying now. Not that a Harkonnen-sanctioned record is likely to provide such details in their own library, but it’s a possibility you’ll have to consider even as the thought turns your stomach.

You start, though, with Feyd-Rautha. It takes pulling out several books and bound sheaves from a couple of different sections to get started, but a worthy investigation once you’ve found a comfortable place to spread everything out and get to reading.

You hadn’t realized that he was born not on Geidi Prime, but on another planet, Lankiveil. You had , however, heard about how his father, Abulurd Rabban, defected from the Harkonnen line and everything it represented, opting for a different sort of life on a distant planet with a Bene Gesserit woman who gave him two sons born eighteen years apart. This leads you into reading about Lankiveil, how it’s cold and water-based like your own planet. Its main source of industry is whaling, and it almost makes you laugh to picture Feyd in a raincoat on a dock. It’s just so far-fetched, the idea that he almost had a life very different from this one.

Of course, that was never going to happen. Rabban is infamous for one major act that changed all of their lives forever: as a younger man he killed their father for abandoning the bloodline and shaming the Harkonnen name. For the crime of patricide, he earned the moniker “Beast,” which he wears with pride. The Baron had already gotten his claws in his elder nephew by then, but Feyd-Rautha had still been a little boy. You’re not entirely sure how much he even remembers his father. You don’t know if they’re happy memories, or if he’d loved him. It’s still hard to imagine him ever having a childhood, but not only did he have one, his early childhood had been free from the Baron, from Geidi Prime, from the expectations of the House of Harkonnen and with two parents who you’re sure must have loved him.

It's an irrefutable fact that he’d come to Geidi Prime at the age of seven. And that is where rumor and fact intermingle. Some have claimed that Feyd’s mother sent him away for what she thought was his own protection; after all, she had never been on Geidi Prime nor known her late husband’s family, so it wouldn’t have been unreasonable for her to assume that her son would be better off with his uncle. Some believe she sent him away as punishment or for her own self-preservation, sensing danger in him at a young age and fearing what he’d grow up to become. Others have insisted that the Baron had his youngest nephew taken away to ensure the possibility of another heir, having no sons of his own.

You pause only part way through when Idrisa come in and suggests you take a break, maybe retire to your quarters and have something to eat and drink to tide you over before dinner. Apparently no one will mind if you take whatever documents you choose back to your quarters.

“We are at the Na-Baroness’s disposal. Whatever she desires,” the librarian assures you when you ask, his head inclined in a bow and his gaze downturned. It’s still a foreign feeling, the way no one can bring themselves to look directly at you, their fear of you by pure association. You clamp down on that discomfort as you thank him and return to your quarters with as many documents as you and Idrisa can carry between you.

As you reach your quarters and get settled in again, you wonder about Feyd-Rautha’s mother and the theories behind the Baron taking over as his guardian. The first theory, you decide, is unlikely. If she knew that her lover had defected and renounced his lineage, she would’ve known why. He would’ve warned her about them, even if she’d never been and even if he hadn’t, the Bene Gesserit would have. The second theory is entirely possible; you have no idea what Feyd was like as a young child. You’d assume he was made rather than born, and that personality traits aren’t inherited, but perhaps the darkness was always there. Perhaps she’d felt that he was doomed to be an extension of everything the Harkonnen represented. Still not terribly likely, given his age, but possible.

What you can likely imagine, though, is the Baron simply plucking Feyd-Rautha from his home to collect and repurpose as his own. He’s never been married nor produced any children and to simply claim one from a deceased family member, knowing no one could truly challenge him over it, would be an easy solution for that. From what you already know about him, he probably wouldn’t even see it as kidnapping, just taking what rightfully belongs to him.

You’re aware that Feyd’s an orphan, but nothing as to why beyond Abulurd’s murder. You find that there really isn’t enough to go on as far as his mother’s concerned other than her Bene Gesserit training and identity as Abulurd Rabban’s concubine, until you finally find the date and cause of death.

Feyd’s mother, according to the records, died when Feyd was fourteen. She’d been murdered in her own home. No one was caught, which means that the culprit’s been fiercely protected. You’d be willing to bet real money that the Baron had someone kill her and take away the one motivation he’d have to return to Lankiveil. It would line up with something else that you read; Feyd’s mother’s murder would have taken place shortly after Feyd-Rautha had attempted to assassinate his uncle. It had been quickly thwarted and fourteen-year-old Feyd-Rautha had been punished severely but spared his life.

You can easily imagine the Baron killing the one family member left not connected to the Harkonnens so his young nephew would be so isolated that he’d have nowhere else to turn.

Are the lashes on his back part of the punishment he faced? It would make them just over a decade old. You’re still not sure about the scars on his inner thighs. He likes pain; could they be self-inflicted? Maybe done to him at his own request by a lover? There’s an intimacy to them that you can only hope was done in an act of passion rather than a punishment administered by his uncle.

Although, and it makes you feel sick to think about, that option is also entirely possible.

If they were self-inflicted, or done for his own gratification, you wonder if he’ll one day ask you to draw a knife on him as well. The more you think about it, the more you realize that you’d be willing to; certainly rather him than you.

“Idrisa,” you start, looking up as she enters the room carrying what looks like a pair of black dresses. “How much do you know about the time Feyd-Rautha tried to assassinate his uncle when he was a boy?” She hesitates. You wait.

“My apologies, my lady,” she says, looking down, “but I wasn’t in the Fortress then. It was before my time.” Instead of elaborating further, she holds up the dresses, one in each hand to compare. “The Baron wants you to dress in the traditional Harkonnen style for dinner this evening. Which of these would you prefer?”

You glance between the two. Both long, both structured, but one with paneling and a more elaborate bodice that looks like it would take more time to actually get in and out of. “That one,” you say, pointing to it. If Idrisa knows your logic behind your choice, she doesn’t bring it up. She just waits for you to put your documents away and after you’ve taken to the bathroom to freshen up, helps you get ready.

When you arrive for dinner, you’re almost the image of a Harkonnen lady, the only traits betraying you being your hair and eyebrows. As expected, the Baron is already eating and while neither he nor Feyd-Rautha stand for you when you enter, your groom does stand to pull your chair out once more as you reach the table. It’s a simple formality, you assume, to hold up the pretense that this is a normal marriage and as something he can easily take away.

“What did you think of our library?” the Baron asks when you sit down, accepting only one answer.

“Truly impressive, Baron,” you tell him. “A testament to the House’s power and resilience.”

If you were worried what he would think about you wanting to look into his bloodline and history, those worries were unfounded. After the exchange he barely acknowledges you the entire meal. He and Feyd-Rautha, however, discuss the arena and new spice routes. You quietly take everything in and watch them interact.

The Baron switches between backhanded compliments, mean-spirited little quips, and the occasional genuine compliment for his nephew. He oscillates between seeming to respect him as a man fit to ascend the throne and still undermining him as hardly more than a child out of his depth handling any conflict. Feyd’s frustration remains quiet, just beneath the surface, but palpable. He seems to know that the Baron’s toying with him, testing him constantly, wondering which new way he flatter him only to put him down again.

It’s also immediately clear that Feyd doesn’t like that you’re seeing him like this, that once again as soon as he’s gotten what he’s wanted he’ll abruptly send you away. Whatever control his uncle takes from him he can always claim from you.

He tried to kill him once, when he was much younger and weaker than he is now. What changed? Does he still think about killing him now that he’s entering the very prime of his life?

You’ve long since finished eating by the time you realize that the men at the table have probably forgotten that you’re even there, so you clear your throat to get their attention.

“My apologies, but may I go to my chambers to prepare for the evening?” you ask, voice light.

You wait. Feyd-Rautha turns and gives you a small nod. “I won’t be too much longer,” he says, exchanging a cold look with his uncle. You don’t want to think about what they say about you when you’re not around, or what kind of innuendo the Baron will leave.

..........................................

The second time of what you’re sure will become a nightly routine is a little less nerve-wracking, but not one that you’re looking forward to.

When you’re stripped down in his bedroom again you choose the same position, even as you feel like a completely different person than you were just one day ago. There’s no fear this time, just resignation. You’re not sure if it’s going to hurt again but it also doesn’t matter, won’t change anything.

He comes out of his bathroom in the same manner as last night, naked and only partially erect. The sight may not scare you anymore, but you still, unfortunately, find his body nice to look at. You’re getting used to everything else, as well. The black teeth and gums nearly made you flinch the first time; now you’ve accepted it as the only mouth you’ll kiss from now on.

He approaches the bed. “Lay back,” he says as he starts to climb into it with you. “Spread your legs. I want to check something.”

You blush, thinking, Can’t we just get this over with? as you comply and take a breath to calm yourself, staring at the ceiling to avoid looking directly at him. You try to tamp down the embarrassment at how exposed you feel.

He inspects the damage, his fingertips pressing against your swollen folds and eyes darting back up to your face at your sharp inhale. He gives your privates a more thorough pass-through than you were willing to give yourself last night. You blink, concerned, as he takes his hand and spits on his fingers.

Why would you? --you think for only a split second before he brings his fingers back down to your torn and stretched womanhood, circling your bud in lazy circles and keeping his thumb there before dipping a finger inside of you.

You instinctively clench around the digit even as it doesn’t actually hurt. “Relax,” he says, as if that’s something you can easily do in your situation. His thumb continues working your bud as he curls his finger inside of you, pressing forward, and you see his brief smirk as you whine, taken aback by the jolt it provides. He does it again, slipping in a second, and the stretch doesn’t burn quite as much, doesn’t pinch so much as it tugs. You glance between his legs to see that he’s filling out the rest of the way from the sights and sounds of you skewered on his fingers. That in itself makes you gasp and flush at the idea that this, warming you up and seeing you aroused, gets him going. In many ways this preparation is just as much for him as it is for you.

Just as last time, you sense when he decides, Alright, you’re ready .

He has enough decency to pause when he’s pressed all the way inside of you, because he still feels massive, and like there’s not enough of you to accommodate him, as though your insides need to rearrange themselves for this intrusion.

It doesn’t hurt as much as last night, you remind yourself. You breathe through your nose as you tremble and hold onto him, gripping his shoulders and remembering how he likes the way you “get your little claws in.” The rocking of his hips is steady and deep but not too rough, not yet. You whimper and adjust your grip on him, managing to breathe, taking in the way he slides in and out of your bruised canal. It’s okay. It’s fine. You’ll get through this .

As soon as he can sense that you’re adjusted he goes harder, faster, relishing the way your nails scratch down his back. You raise your knees up to his ribcage and squeeze, trying to get some leverage in.

It’s no real use; he controls the pace, grips your hip with his free hand and seems to like when your whimpers and moans are laced with discomfort, wordlessly begging for him to please slow down, be gentler. Even if he doesn’t force you onto all fours like last night, it still feels animalistic when he speeds up further, grunting against the flushed skin of your neck, keeping you locked in place around him until you feel him coming, shuddering as he fills you up.

For a moment he raises himself up from his forearms to his hands, looking down at you with an expression he can’t place, before drawing a few errant strands of hair away from your face and pulling out. You don’t look at him as he collapses onto his back beside you. Somehow you feel even more used than before, more like a warm hole than a woman.

The two of you lay together in silence as you wait for the throbbing to subside. It takes a couple of minutes, but when you start to feel better you sit up and slide your legs to the side of the bed. You won’t wait to be dismissed. You sense him turn his head to look at you but don’t acknowledge him. You’ll head back to your chambers, soak in another lukewarm bath, and take the second half of the tablet from last night, even if you don’t need it as badly. It’ll at least help you sleep.

You get up and head for his dresser, reaching for your clothes when Feyd-Rautha’s voice stops you.

“Where are you going?” he asks. “I didn’t tell you to leave.”

You turn and look at him, your eyebrows raised. “You want me to stay?” you ask.

“I didn’t say I was finished with you yet,” he says.

You give his still-softened dick a pointed look. “You look pretty finished off to me,” you tell him, and step into your slippers.

You realize you made a mistake as soon as you say it. Feyd-Rautha’s up and at your back before you can finish pulling on your chemise. He tears it off you, throws it to the floor and wraps an arm around your ribcage as he lowers his head to your ear.

“I won’t tolerate you questioning my own body or abilities,” he says. “If I say I want another go, then I’ll have one.”

You squirm, and he turns you around, pinning you to the dresser as he grabs your hair and tightens. You wince and try to push away from him, but he only grabs your wrist in his free hand and brings it down to the dresser.

“I won’t be disrespected in my own bedroom,” he says, and you force yourself to look him in the eye. It’s the first time he’s seemed angry with you; the harsh angles of his narrow face more pronounced, his eyes pale and pupils blown out, his full lips the closest you’ve seen to a thin line.

Maybe it’s you he’s actually mad at, maybe not. Either way, you’re the one he can take his frustrations out on.

Play along, you tell yourself. Even if he’s not going to kill you for insolence, he’ll find ways to make life worse for you .

“What do you want me to do?” you ask finally. His face seems to relax slightly, and you realize when his chest moves again he’d been holding his breath. After a moment he decides how he’ll punish you for your so-called disrespect.

“Kneel on the bed, hands braced on the headboard, with your legs spread. Make sure to keep ‘em there,” he says.

You slowly step out of your slippers and turn, walking towards the bed. The seconds that pass as you get into position are silent, agonizing.

You wait, and when you don’t sense him move any closer, turn your head to look at him.

He’s still staring, taking in his fill, before he strides forward and settles in behind you, one hand braced beside yours against the headboard, the other cupping your breast.

It doesn’t stay there, though. After giving the soft flesh a squeeze for good measure he moves his hand upwards, around your throat. Your first instinct is to freeze, wanting to move.

He’s not going to kill you; he’s just trying to scare you, you tell yourself, and it’s working. You try to breathe, calm your rapid heartbeat. He can taste your fear; he revels in it. He doesn’t squeeze but he deliberately leaves his thumb against your windpipe, his long fingers curled around your neck.

I won’t kill you but I easily can, he seems to say. Unarmed and naked I could still kill you in brutal fashions you’ve never heard of. And then he gently nuzzles against your hair, and the shift disarms you, makes you feel all the more helpless as you whine.

He releases your neck and you inhale, closing your eyes. His hand trails back down, squeezing your other breast this time, down your stomach and to the apex of your thighs. He idly strokes your bud, and it gives you a jolt despite your nerves.

“Who else has ever touched you here?” he asks. It’s not a threat, but you could easily picture him killing anyone you name–it’s also not lost on you how fucked up that is. Thankfully you can provide none.

“Just myself,” you tell him. He huffs, as if to say, Yeah, I thought so , before taking one of your hands from the headboard and guiding it back in between your legs.

“Show me how you do it,” he says, his hand over yours.

You flush with embarrassment, but comply, bringing your fingertips to your bud and pressing down in a circling motion.

He gives a hmm , as you trail your fingertips to your slit, collecting the combination of his spent seed leaking out of you and your own growing wetness before bringing your digits back to your bud, has you whimpering at the slick of it. He follows, hand tight over yours, learning your movements. Despite your nerves it’s easier to get slicker, and to your horror you find yourself rocking your hips up against both his hand and yours. You give a breathy whimper, unsure how your own body can betray you like this. He finally tightens his grip on your hand and moves it to the headboard, leaving you in shock as he spits on his fingers and takes up where you’ve left off.

He mimics your movements exactly, touches you the way you’ve touched yourself over the past few years, and yet it feels all the more exhilarating to have another hand there that you can’t help but gently move against his fingers, larger and so much longer than yours and yet so precise and deliberate.

Before you realize it his cock, stiff again, slides against the cleft of your ass. You gasp, wanting to turn around but he’s so close to you, chest against your back, and he grabs your hips to jut out further behind you, pulls you down his level, your thighs on top of his.

“Don’t move,” he tells you, withdrawing his hand from yours and settling back. You can feel your body flush, your nipples stiff against the air, holding onto the headboard as you sense him grip himself in his fist and press against you.

It doesn’t hurt this time when he pushes in. He can sense it in your moans, the way you’re wet and pliant for him, ready to take him however he comes to you. You almost hate it, that he can do this to you. That he probably could have from the beginning. He rolls his hips up into you, the glide and pressure of it only on the verge of discomfort, but a welcome ache, a stretch inside of you.

You reach a hand behind you, skimming along his flank, wanting to touch him, but he’s just out of reach and you drop your forehead against the headboard, your moans and whines spurring him on. He grabs your hand and presses it back against the headboard before giving a deeper thrust into you, one that would’ve hurt yesterday but the push of it provides a delicious throb now.

The tension builds. You can feel it like flames licking up your spine and belly, and he can hear it. Your cries become increasingly desperate, your own hips rocking back down to meet his. You hardly register that you’re doing it or why; your body takes over and makes the decisions for you. He brings one hand to fondle your breasts again, one after the other, before bringing it down to your bud, and you can only imagine how smug he must be feeling that not only does he have you exactly where he wants you, that he’s making you enjoy it.

It finally feels good. You’d almost assumed that it never would, but it does. If anyone listened in, they’d hear the unambiguous pleasure in every noise you make and Great Mother, does Feyd-Rautha draw a lot of noises out of you.

But then his hand comes back to your other hip, leaving you so close to the precipice and after several more thrusts he comes, grabbing your hips and pushing upwards with a harsh grunt against your hair. He spears you onto him, pausing, rocking his hips up once more, and once he’s certain that he’s finished pulls out, grabs your jaw, and turns his face as much as he reasonably can to yours.

He sees your stunned expression, can feel that you’re still throbbing and in need of some sweet relief, and nods his head dismissively towards the door.

“ Now you can go,” he says.

You stare at him for a moment, not sure if you want to slap him across the face or pull him in for a furious kiss. He can see the warring impulses on your face and looks at you as though he’d be perfectly content with either, but still will react differently depending on which you choose.

You settle for a kiss, grabbing the back of his head and mashing your lips against his. You think that you’d like nothing more than to push him down and take him for yourself, for your own selfish pleasure like he did. You’re not entirely sure of the positioning but you’ll figure it out. You shift, managing to turn to face him properly before resuming the kiss.

He allows it, even responds to it, for a minute before grabbing the back of your head and pulling you away.

He tilts his head at you as if to say, ‘ Next time don’t question my virility or how I can make you feel, and maybe then I’ll let you come. ’

You bastard, you think, wondering how much he’s enjoying the clear indignation on your face. He likes provoking you, that much is certain, whether it’s fear or lust or anger. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction, then, and so after some awkward shuffling you dismount the bed and pointedly look away from him as you walk to the dresser. It would probably be more dignified if you didn’t have his seed leaking out of you, trailing down your inner thighs.

You don’t bother to look back or say anything as you quickly redress and leave.

Neither you nor Idrisa speak as you head to your chambers, but as soon as you’re behind closed doors again you tell her that you’ll need a moment alone in the bathroom.

You’re grateful that she leaves you to it without an explanation this time as you glance in the mirror and the remnants of your blush that start at your hairline and follow down to your chest.

You shrug off your robe and turn on the faucet before finally, shamefully, bringing your hand between your legs and feeling the slick of him there mingling with your own slick and rub down, cursing Feyd-Rautha and cursing this planet and hoping that the sound of the running water drowns out your cries as you brace yourself against the sink, head bowed, and come, shaking and twitching, to the memory of his tongue and fingers against you, of him inside of you.

When it’s over you can’t bring yourself to look in the mirror was you wash your hands and turn off the faucet

You’ll need the half-tablet tonight. Not for pain, but because otherwise there’s no way you’ll be able to sleep tonight.

#feyd rautha #feyd x reader #feyd x you #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd-rautha #feyd rautha smut #dune 2 #dune par 2 #feyd rautha x reader

113 notes · View notes

enaelyork · 10 months ago

Note

Could I request a prewar!cooper Howard x fem!actress!reader where he finds out a producer has been making her sleep with him under the threat of cooper losing his jobs! 💓

Hi you !

Thx you so much for this amazing ask. So, here we are, hope you enjoy it.

I resign [PreWar! Cooper x F! Reader]

Ask for Cooper Howard is OPEN

TW: Alcohol, sexual abuse, violence.

Words : 1.9 k

- What's going on between you and him?

- Nothing at all.

You had swallowed your entire drink. You needed that, and a lot more alcohol, to drown out the shameful lie you had just told Cooper. It wasn't your intention to lie to him, but you had no choice.

- Are you sure ? Because he hasn't stopped looking at you since we both talked.

- He is afraid that you will corrupt his main actress…

The word had lightened the atmosphere, just a few seconds which allowed you to glance at Oscar Sullivan. The producer of your last film with whom you were forced to make this sordid agreement. You're due for another chance at Cooper Howard's career. It must be said that since his divorce, things have gone rather badly for him. A long absence from film sets and his image tainted by a marital breakdown earned him several refusals. So, when you applied for this new film together, you were delighted to learn that he had been chosen to play the lead alongside you.

But it was not without consequences.

It wasn't without Oscar's hands on your body, his mouth on yours and the consummation of your contract right at his desk. You thought that your charms would be enough, that once he had a taste of it, things would have improved for you as well as for Coop.

Big mistake.

The suspicion with which Cooper looked at you brought a blush to your cheeks. You put it down to drunkenness – the only way to escape from this situation – but it was an illusion.

It's difficult to admit to your friend that Oscar was waiting for you to join him in his hotel room after this reception, and that it was in your interest not to decline his offer. The features of his face calmed. As if despite his suspicions, he still managed to trust you. This semblance of carefreeness in him soothed you. He soothed you, probably more than he should. But Cooper had always been special to you, long before his divorce from Barbs, and he had brought out things in you that you had buried for a long time.

- You're worrying for nothing. Oscar is lovely to us, isn't he?

He hesitated before answering something much too nuanced for you. Cooper had noticed the way the producer treated you once on set. The way he devoured you with his eyes and took pleasure in making you shoot scenes in scantily clad clothes. The subject had already been brought up more than once, but you always managed to find a valid excuse, especially through the scenario.

- I assure you that everything is fine. But I'm going to go to bed. The champagne is really going to my head and we're back to work bright and early tomorrow.

Without you having time to react, Cooper's lips rested on your forehead and his scent of musk and wood spice spread into your nostrils. The intoxication he provoked in you made you dizzy and in that moment, when your eyes met his, you wanted to confess everything to him. That he was right. That you sleep with Oscar for him, so that he can finally relaunch his career. That in bed with this guy, you thought of him.

That you feel dirty. But nothing came except this awful sad smile which definitely cast doubt on your situation.

-------------------

- He kissed you.

Oscar’s grip on your hips had tightened the moment he came to join you on the threshold of his bedroom door.

- Just a kiss on the forehead, nothing important.

- You really love him, then? Me who thought you only had eyes for me. Maybe I should take it away from you to remind you who you belong to, beauty.

- Of course not. You get ideas. It's only you who matters.

You kissed him, closing your eyes, trying to take your soul out of your body and put it on autopilot. He smelled of whiskey and cold tobacco, a smell the opposite of the one that still haunted you. Once the door closed, you didn't see the shadow watching you further down the hotel corridor and all the consequences that would follow.

----------

Cooper didn't even speak to you the next day.

Yet you had tried to approach him. Asking him if his night went well, if his text made him feel comfortable or if he needed anything. As the day went on, it became apparent to you that he was avoiding you a lot.

Then his eyes met yours and that look broke your heart definitly.

There was darkness in his hazel eyes, a darkness that seemed to slowly absorb him and painfully compress your soul. The day had been a constant torture searching for any sign of peace between the two of you, but nothing. The nothingness and sadness he sent back to you were unbearable. Then, the end of the day turned into a nightmare.

He had been drinking.

More than he should have done at the workplace, but you knew Cooper had that tendency ever since Barbs left with Janey. His life had become so disjointed that he no longer had any defenses to confront his ghosts. How could he believe in himself when the one he loved had decided to let him go too?

- Cooper, you need to go back to your dressing room now.

- And why this ?

He wasn't drunk, just enough to remove all inhibition from his mouth and turn his sweetness into venom. The look of contempt he gave you gave you chills. You waited until he left to take him to task and reason with his self-destructive attitude.

- Because your career is at stake, dammit! You didn't do all this to screw everything up.

- Are you the one who screws everything up? Do you want me to go back to my dressing room and play the whore producer?

You brought your hands to your mouth. Trying to understand how he could have known about this situation.

- Yeah. I saw you last night, sweatheart. It's not very nice to lie, especially to end up with this guy.

You were unable to answer him, frozen, petrified by the nastiness of his words. Outside rang out the bursts of laughter of a team satisfied with their long day of work. But there, in this locker room, chaos reigned between you and him.

- How can you do that? With him ? You're not a failed actress though. And…What the hell are you doing?

You were crying.

There were no other possible options. The sobs could no longer stay where you imprisoned them. It had been there for too long. It built up every time Oscar touched you, penetrated you and whispered vile words to you. But now, when Cooper was behaving exactly like a bastard, you could no longer remain impassive.

-He obliges me.

You realized in that moment that your back was pressed against a wall and that Cooper's body was so close to his that you could smell the delicious smell of mint and cold beer emanating from his breath. His hand hovered above his head, not as a threat but as a shield, protecting you from an unbearable world.

-When...When I signed my contract, he told me it was just one time. Once to allow you to be here.

He didn't say anything. Not a word.

A baleful silence disturbed by his slow breathing.

-I thought it would end there. But he told me that if I refused to continue, then he would terminate your contract. And I can't accept that. This role is with you or with no one.

Your breathing was labored, but you didn’t care because it was now obvious that you were going to die of a broken heart.

-I'm not a slut. I…He disgusts me, but I want the best for you, I want you to come back to the forefront, I want you…

Not another word came out of your mouth.

His lips rested on your forehead.

Tenderly. Impassively.

His finger had slid down your cheek, picking up the tear that fell on your skin before leaving, dragging you with him onto the tray with a firm but tender grip.

- Aaah, here they are, our heroes! Oscar was quick to jump out of his producer's seat when he saw you two rushing in together. Then, his enthusiasm faded at the sight of your eyes reddened with tears.

- What's going on, baby? Did Cooper hurt you? Do you want to talk about it together in…

He didn't finish his sentence.

His collar grabbed by Cooper's firm hands, pushing him back so violently that he knocked over his chair. - What the hell are you doing, you…

- I'm not a nice guy. Your friend began in a dark voice. So I'll tell you one thing. If you're looking for an actor to play good guys, you can find another one. I resign.

It had happened.

He had just said it exactly. Some members of the team tried to separate them, but you remained completely impassive, lost.

-And now that you can tear up my contract, you'll tear up hers too. He said, pointing at you with a jerk of his chin. If I find out that you're touching her again, that you're still trying to fuck her without her agreeing, I...

- She agreed, this little sl…

The fist that smashed his jaw flew without warning. Oscar found himself on the ground, disoriented by the shock of the impact. - Never talk about her like that, understand? He moved away from him, not without giving him a threatening look. Looking for his pack of cigarettes in the pocket of his jeans.

- Burn our contracts and explain to all your fans why you won't have your main actors to finish your job.

Shit. It was incredibly sexy to hear him defend you like that. You were shaking nervously, but it was terribly exhilarating to see him beat the shit out of that poor guy. When he grabs your hand, your eyes meet again and you understand that nothing will ever be the same between you again.

- Come on, Sweatheart. I'll take you to the police station. You have a complaint to file against this bastard.

#fallout tv #fallout show #fallout series #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard #cooper howard x you #cooper howard x fem!reader #cooper howard/the ghoul #fallout tv series #fallout prime

127 notes · View notes

lady-phenix · 9 months ago

Text

Andras was a proud, handsome demon of noble caliber. He was very owl like, taller than his wife and easily stronger. At his hip was the angelic blade, Exnoctum. It had spilled the blood of many an insolent demon and the rare exorcist.

"Phenix...what are you doing out here? Are you trying to embarrass me in front of all our relatives?".

"N-no sir, I...I was just feeling overwhelmed. Crowds, they...they intimidate me".

"Intimidate you? What are you, a hatchling?! This is our anniversary for lucifers sake!".

"I'm aware of the date, sir!" Phenix dared raise her voice to him, "you need not remind me...".

He marched towards her and grabbed her slender throat. Phenix struggled but couldn't loosen his grip.

"You...do not...command me!" He hissed at her, "you are nothing more than a bastard! You were an insignificant no account wretched little thing before I chose you! Gave you my name! You...owe...me..." he got close to her face.

Andras' eyes glowed, keeping his gaze on his trembling wife. "Everything's fine....everything is just...fine" he told her in a soft tone that was borderline hypnotic.

Phenix tried to fight his illusion, but as always, he made it so damn realistic. He used her idea of a perfect husband against her, making it seem like they were truly in love.

With her now under his control, he looked at her hand and removed the locket ring from her finger, throwing it towards the urn.

"You don't need that silly little reminder...let's go inside and see our guests, my rose red queen".

"Yes...lets..." she sounded like a mere shadow of herself as Andras took her by the arm.

She smiled a little at the quote. "I find that to be very true, Mister Warbie. Time heals wounds but it also hardens and scars them. I feel I carry her with me all the time" Phenix gently touched the locket ring on her finger, "I still feel like what you do is important. You inspire hope and having hope is a very powerful thing. And someone has to inspire that".

She cocked her head, one of her ear tufts twitching. Someone was calling her. Suddenly phenix became very alert.

"You have to hide, Mister Warbie...my husband, Andras, he isn't so kind as me and I'd hate for you to get hurt-".

"Phenix! Where are you?!" A loud, rather snobbish, sophisticated man's voice called out.

She didn't answer at first turning to her new little friend. "Whatever you see, whatever you hear, don't expose yourself, don't play the hero. He has an angelic weapon and Andras will not hesitate to use it. I'll be fine, I promise. Hes...done a lot to me. I can take it-".

"Phenix!".

"I'm on my way back! I just needed some air, dearest" Phenix didn't want to draw too much attention to the cherub.

#rp title: Missing wishes #tw: gaslighting #tw: marital abuse #forgottenstarlightwishes #reed warbie

41 notes · View notes

toomanythoughts2 · 3 months ago

Text

Why Did Serveta Never Compete for Miss Universe? A Theory on Serveta's Life and Skwisgaar's Birth

Hello everyone! This theory was born simply from the phrase, "Skwisgaar is technically a nepo baby." I wanted to look into just how Nepo he actually was and if it was ever that serious. While digging, I formed a small theory based on the information I found.

GIST: Serveta is victim of hyper sexualization and grooming in the pageantry world. As a young woman, Serveta competed for Miss Sweden and won. She was given the opportunity to compete for Miss Universe but was later rejected because she became pregnant, something contestants are not allowed to be in order to compete. The birth of Skwisgaar rendered Serveta from living out her dream of becoming Miss Universe, which is the goal for pageantry contestants and would have made Serveta very wealthy and famous. The resentment she felt for Skwisgaar turned into neglect and sexual abuse.

TW: Sexual Abuse of a Minor

As always, longer theory under the cut!

Miss Sweden and Miss Universe

Ingrid Goude, the real 1956 Miss Sweden.

Miss Sweden began in 1949, 7 years before Serveta would compete in 1956. Miss Sweden is the beauty pageant that contestants need to win in Sweden in order to represent Sweden in Miss Universe, a highly sought out pageantry for women all across the globe. Miss Universe is recognized as one of the Big Four Beauty Pageants in the world. (Miss World, Miss Earth, and Miss International)

Rules

In order to compete, there are certain rules the contestants need to follow.

Miss Sweden x

Not allowed to be married (Has been possibly changed)

Not allowed to have kids (Has been possibly changed)

Only females are allowed to compete

4 phases: Interview, Evening Gown, Swimsuit/Fitness, Onstage Question

Age Range from 18 - 27

No ethnicity requirement

No unique requirement

Must live in Sweden

Miss Universe x

Age: As of September 2023, there is no upper age limit. Previously, the age range was 18 to 28 years old on the date of the national competition.

Citizenship: Each delegate must be a citizen of the country she represents.

Marital Status and Parental Status: Since August 2022, there are no restrictions on marital status or having children. Previously, contestants could not be married, divorced, pregnant, or have parented a child.

Criminal Background: While there is no official rule, most countries would likely not send a delegate with a criminal record.

Citizenship Verification: Delegates must provide documented proof of citizenship in the country they represent. This could involve birth certificates, passports, or other official documents.

Background Checks: While not always explicitly stated, many countries conduct background checks on potential delegates to ensure they don’t have any criminal records or controversies that could tarnish the pageant’s image.

Transgender Participation: The Miss Universe Organization currently does not allow transgender women to compete. This is a complex issue with ongoing discussions, and the policy might evolve in the future.

Winnings for Miss Sweden

In both modern time and in 1956, the rewards for winning Miss Sweden focuses a lot on exposure rather than money. Winning usually meant that contracts for modeling companies would open up, be awarded scholarship money for school, win a small amount of cash, or gain allowances for personal services like hair and clothing. x x x

However, both times, the winner of Miss Sweden (as long as they are not too young to compete) can be sent to compete in Miss Universe, which is the big reason for winning this competition.

Winnings for Miss Universe

In modern times, Miss Universe receives her prestigious title along with x:

A $250,000 cash prize

A $50,000 monthly salary during her reign, as reported by EFE

The opportunity to champion charitable causes and promote international initiatives

All expenses paid for trips in private jets

The reigning queen also lives for a year in the organization's luxurious apartment in New York City.

Will host Miss Universe's upcoming YouTube traveling show

A luxurious watch

From this list (and the fact that I can not find information on what the winner of Miss Universe of 1956 won) the winnings for Miss Universe in 1956 most likely consisted of:

Some kind of high paying salary or cash prize

A crown

A title

A movie contract x

Some expenses paid for pageantry related things

The opportunity to become an advocate for social issues or causes.

All in all, winning Miss Universe ultimately is a much bigger deal with higher cash rewards, more prestige, and plenty of career opportunities after your reign is over. It would make a lot of sense for those who won Miss Sweden to compete in Miss Universe.

Sexual Abuse and Grooming In Pageants

JonBenét Ramsey, victim of sexualization from child pageants

Training

Women do not just compete for titles like Miss Sweden without training. Child Pageants are money making machines. Think of it in the context of a family vlogger harassing their children and/or forcing them to be in videos and participate. Just like how these children have no laws pertaining to their rights as workers, the same goes for child pageantry contestants.

Many young girls go through serious training for pageants, often resulting in these children being restricted from proper sleep, nutrition, and socialization. Remember Toddlers and Tiaras?

This is labor. This is a child. The US has labor laws in place for children but they don't cover pageants, these children are at the mercy of their parents or caregivers.

Womanhood and "Sexiness"

Child pageants are meant to mimic adult women pageants in every way except for age x. This includes the phases (swimsuits, evening dress, interview) and the manner in which they wear their clothes. These children are showcasing themselves as women, and these pageants do not exist without women being sexy. Therefore, these young girls only know that in order to be a woman, they must be sexy x. How do you become sexy? Showing skin, being provocative, being competitive. These young girls are growing up believing they will only become woman once they do these things. This plays into gender conforming behavior as well, as it becomes a subconscious belief that womanhood = femininity, sexuality, appearance, servitude x.

These pageants mimic adult women pageants which many people have criticized for the provocative nature. By having young girls compete in these pageants, which require provocative acceptance, adults are teaching their girls to behave and participates in the behaviors of provocativeness x.

Consequences

In reports of children being sexually abused, research shows that the sexualization of children is a contributing factor to their abuse. Also, if a child is winning constantly in a competition that is based primarily on their looks, they are more likely to develop psychological issues later on in life, such as depression, low self-esteem, and eating disorders. There is also a link to lowered sexual efficacy and contraceptive use later in life. x

The sexualization child in these pageants are directly related to the sexual abuse they face. These people can be judges, parents, assistants, and watchers. Imagine you're a famous child pageant winner, sooner or later, adult fans are going to try and meet you. What's the likelihood of 100% of these people having your best intentions to heart? Low. These children grow up in a provocative and hyper sexualized state, they are going to grow up and be hypersexual in order to achieve womanhood, including a lowered chance of wearing contraceptives.

The psychological problems related to perceptions of the self are long lasting and carry onto adolescence and adulthood due to the hyper fixation on their physical appearance at an early age. The implications regarding the achievement of "perfection" and the perception of body image that have been taught to these them remain engrained in the way they view themselves long after they retire from pageant competitions and transition into adulthood. x

Does this all sound familiar?

"I could never lose the weight after you were born! And look at the veins in my bosom, they're like a roadmap of Stockholm!"

Serveta is a victim of child sexualization and grooming.

Canon Information on Serveta

Past

So what do we know of Serveta? Well, one thing we know is that Serveta is Miss Sweden of 1956. That's basically all we know of her past, other than her promiscuity. There are a few pieces of her present that should also be acknowledged before we continue.

Present

Something I want to highlight are the pictures inside Serveta's home.

These images consist of one thing; herself. In these two frames alone, all of the picture but one are of Serveta. There is one lone picture of Skwisgaar as a child (which we also see during the flashback of this episode by the front door.) but the rest are of Serveta. Take note that most of these photos are also a young Serveta, thought there is arguably some photos of her in her older age. Specially the side profile picture above the lamp and the one long photo above little Skwisgaar.

Out of all the things to decorate her house with, and it's with herself. Her younger self. Serveta is surrounding herself with images of her former self, in a body that she no longer has. She is obsessing over the looks she once possessed during her pageantry years. The same goes for her clothing options.

Serveta wears a long dress that shows cleavage, is form fitting, and has a split up the leg. She is refusing to let go of her past teachings in pageantry of what it means to be a woman, which is to be sexy. Even after all of these years, Serveta is still suffering from her days in the pageantry world.

Theory

Serveta was a young and upcoming pageantry winner. She spent a god chunk of her life in the pageantry world, winning awards and titles, until finally competing in Miss Sweden, which she won. Serveta had every intention of competing for Miss Universe, however, due to her exposure in the pageantry world (Hyper-sexualization, grooming, gender conforming) Serveta had become pregnant. In a Skwisgaar interview, he reveals that his mother liked guitar players. Serveta was attracted toward men who were completely opposite of the world she grew up in. Her promiscuity was manufactured from an unsafe childhood in the pageantry world. Her pregnancy however, disqualified her from competing in Miss Universe (and other high end pageants), thus resulting in all of her work, pain, and world being in shattered. In turn, Serveta relied on the one thing she did have, which was her body and her looks. Her own trauma translated into neglecting Skwisgaar and Skwisgaar's own sexual abuse. However, Serveta was aware of Skwisgaar's talent once he acquired his guitar and knew she had to nurture it till fruition, just like how Serveta's own parental figure did to her.

______________________________________________________________

That's all for this theory. Be sure to reply or repost with your own thoughts on it. I would love to hear about :)

#skwisgaar skwigelf #serveta skwigelf #surfetta skwigelf #metalocalypse #metalocalypse headcanons #metalocalypse theory

40 notes · View notes

enby-jellyfish · 8 months ago

Text

I Am Venus God.

Arthur Shelby X GN!Reader (POC friendly)

Pronouns: You/Your

Summary: You meet Arthur at your lowest, now the time has come to see him at his.

Warnings: TW PSYCHOTIC EPISODE, TW PSYCHOSIS, religious themes, marital neglect, mentions of substance abuse (alcohol and unspecified drugs), cursing, period typical ignorance to mental health issues, possible OOC Tommy, angst

Word Count: 2108

A/N: Inspired by that one scene from Queen Charlotte :)

Aside from your new husband sneaking off to various pubs and working in an actual gang, your marriage has been going smoothly, even if how it came to be was anything but.

The marriage in question was arranged by his brother, the fearsome gang leader Tommy Shelby. Your father's bakery had been struggling a lot, so he did what any desperate working man in Small Heath does and went to the infamous Peaky Blinders for help. Surprisingly Tommy accepted your father's plea with the condition that you had to marry the eldest Shelby.

You were furious when you heard the news, understandably so. How dare they basically sell you to a man you've never seen, but whose reputation precedes him. You, like anyone who has not been living under a rock these past few years, have heard horrible stories about the Peaky Blinders. They are cheats, liars, and most importantly, murderers. And Arthur Shelby is said to be the cruellest of them all.

Your fiancé.

On the day of your wedding, you had tried to escape. Emphasis on 'tried', you had been caught before you could. By none other than your future husband himself. You had tried to convince him to help you escape, not knowing who he was, lamenting about the monster you thought your fiancé to be.

"I'm afraid i can't help you, love." He had stated.

"And why not?" You had questioned, exasperated by his quick refusal to help you, someone in clear need.

"Because I'm the monster you're supposed to be marrying right now." He had given you that awkward smile you will come to adore.

After that he had given you a choice, something his brother and your own father had refused you. You could choose your future now, and surprising no one more than yourself you said the words 'I do." a few moments later.

During your honeymoon you had gotten to know him better. You had eaten, drunk, slept, and danced together. But most importantly you had talked. He was not a man of many words and would stumble over his words anytime the conversation would go deeper than 'How did you sleep?'.

Despite this he tried. He confided in you about his youth, the war, his family, and his relationship with God. He spoke about how he used to not believe, and how that changed when he met a woman, Linda. She had shown him 'The way of The Lord', and helped him find comfort when he had none. Anytime you would try and ask what happened to her, he would get a weird look in his eyes and change the subject. Your current working theory is that she either left him or is dead. You don't want to think about the further implications of either of those options, considering the whole crime family situation and all, so you stopped asking.

Ignorance is bliss after all.

Said bliss came to an abrupt stop after the honeymoon though. Tommy had called his brother back to work and so you were left alone in the house. It is a nice house, by the countryside, beautifully decorated with all sorts of knick-knacks, and a big garden. Normally you wouldn't have minded being on your own, and you didn't at first. You had your books, your garden, and when he came back from work, you had your husband.

However the time he spent away got longer and longer with time, and when he was home he was... distant. Whatever Tommy made him do caused Arthur to slip away from you. He started spending more time with a bottle and other substances, you don't even want to know what they are, than with you. Sometimes you didn't see him for days, or even weeks at a time. It was heartbreaking, to see the man you had learned to like and even love so stressed. You had only just gained him, his trust, his love, and now you were losing him.

Tonight, you are awoken by strange noises from the other side of your bedroom. At first you assume it is Arthur, coming back home under the influence of God knows what, and you are indeed correct about it being Arthur, but when you sit up you immediately notice something is off about him.

Confused you watch as he scratches something into the wall using a palette knife, muttering incoherently to himself. You try calling his name. No response.

You try again, a bit louder this time. "Arthur, is that you?" He still doesn't respond so you get out of bed, wrapping your blanket around you and lighting the candle on your nightstand. You walk over to him, trying to understand his ramblings in the process, but you can't make sense of any of it.

"Arthur."

Suddenly he stops his repetitive muttering and scratching. He drops the palette knife and stumbles around to face you. It's like he's looking right through you. He starts walking towards the door, not sparing you another glance. Concerned you follow him.

He walks quickly and stiffly, continuing his muttering, you can vaguely make out the words 'Show yourself.'. It's like he is so sure of where he is going, yet unaware of anything around him. He moves out of your bedroom, down the stairs, through the living room and exits the house. You have to jog to keep up with him. The two of you are now in the garden.

"Arthur! It's cold. You're not wearing shoes." He is running now.

You hear him before you can catch up to him. "I see you! God, your angels. I see you!"

See who? What? And oh, oh. He is undressing now. The few clothes he was wearing are now flying through the air while he keeps shouting at the sky. "I see you! I see you! My Lord, my angel, I'm here. I'm here!"

You have never seen him like this. He has had outbursts before, sure, but they were out of anger, never this.

"I feel you, talk to me!" He exclaims, falling to the ground, pale knees turning black from the dirt.

"I knew you would come. I knew it." He stood again, reaching his hands up to the sky.

"Yes! They will see. I know. Yes!" It stunned you, seeing him like this. You think back to the times you've seen him drunk or high, but this behaviour doesn't match anything you've seen him on before.

"It is God. Do you see it?" Is he speaking to you? "Say hello! Hello, God!"

"Arthur." You finally will yourself to speak.

He gasps, looking back to the sky, but doesn't respond.

"Arthur."

Finally he turns to face you. "It is God. Say hello."

"No. I am God. Right here. I am God." The words slip from your lips before you can stop them.

"You are God?" Now he is the stunned one. "Yes." Perhaps indulging whatever this is may be the best course of action for now.

He lets out a gasp, bringing his hands up to cover his mouth. "You are God?"

"Yes. And God is going inside. You need to come with me."

"All right. I thought..." Another gasp. "I thought you were in the sky." He looks back up, confused.'

"I was in the sky, but now I am going inside. Into our house."

"Here. Here." You wrap your blanket around him, feeling the goosebumps on his arms as you do so. "Come on." You gently lead him towards your house.

“God… is indoors.” He says it more like a question.

“God is indoors. With you. I am with you.” You affirm.

Once inside you sit your husband on the couch and tell him to stay there while you go and fill up the tub. He just nods, staring blankly ahead.

You adjust the blanket on his shoulders and move to put on the kettle. While waiting for the water to boil you pick up the phone and dial Tommy's number, that fucker has some explaining to do.

He picks up after the first ring, odd, considering it's the middle of the night, but you are not going to question it. “Get over here, it’s Arthur.” You hang up before he can get a word in.

You fill up the tub with the hot water, adding colder water so it won’t burn. You fetch Arthur and he allows you to move him into the tub. Gently you start scrubbing away all the dirt, sweat, and tears from his body. Gently running the sponge over his seemingly perpetually bruised knuckles. He is shaking, mouth moving without making a sound, staring into nothing.

When you finally manage to get Arthur clean and dressed his brother barges into your bedroom. Tommy quickly addresses you before starting to march over to his brother, who is now sitting on the bed.

"Tommy." You block his way. "What is this? What is happening?" He sighs out your name while rubbing his hand over his face. Like it is exhausting to even be in the same room as you. How fucking dare he.

"Thomas!"

You have never raised your voice at him before, you haven't dared. He looks at you, finally he looks at you. You don't think he has ever looked you in the eye before.

“What has happened to my husband?”

He sighs. “It’s just The Flanders Blues, he’ll get over it.” He says it in a way that, if you hadn’t seen what you had that night you would have believed him.

You laugh at him. “Don’t bullshit me Thomas, I’ve seen shellshock this,” you point at your husband, he hasn’t moved an inch. “, is not that.”

“He was talking to the sky, Tommy. I-” Your voice breaks and you have to give yourself a moment to take a breath. You will not cry now.

“Yeah, and what difference does it make, you wouldn’t have married him if you knew.”

“I didn’t want to marry him in the first place, the whole idea of this marriage was against my will.” You take a breath, trying to calm yourself. “But if I have to be married, if I have to leave my home, my family, my life, it can’t be for a man I don’t know!”

“You should be grateful; your family is well provided for, and you could be doing so much worse, so what if he is mad!” He moves his arms exasperatedly.

“I don’t care about his sanity, I care about his happiness, I care for his soul. Let him be mad, if mad is what he needs. We are done, get out of my house.”

He looks at you with an unreadable look on his face. “Take care of him.” With that he leaves. You watch him leave, a mix of confusion and relief washing over you.

You hear Tommy’s car leave and only then you release the breath you’ve been holding. Hearing movement behind you you turn around, seeing Arthur move from the bed to the ground, sliding himself under the bed.

“Arthur?” His odd behaviour makes you worried for another outburst.

“It’s quiet here.” You close your eyes and nod your head, accepting that this is what he needs right now.

You move towards the bed, kneeling to the ground. “Is there room for one more under there? I could use some quiet too.”

He doesn’t respond but hear shuffling sounds and take that as permission and get under the bed with him. He is right, it is quiet down here.

“This has been an… exciting night, hasn’t it?” You look over at him, he looks calmer now, like he is actually here. “…Are you feeling better now?”

He nods. “Thank you, I’m sorry you had to see that.” His voice sounds hoarse. You think back to his screaming before, he sounded so desperate. Desperate to be saved, to be seen.

You swallow the lump in your throat. It broke your heart, seeing him like that, him apologising is just the cherry on top. You slowly reach over and grasp his hand into yours

“Thank you.” You aren’t exactly sure what you are thanking him for. Not letting you escape your wedding perhaps? Because despite everything that happened tonight, you are grateful to have him with you, right here, right now, under your bed, hiding from a deity in the sky.

“I love you.” You bring your intertwined hands to your lips and kiss the back of his hand.

“I don’t deserve you.” A tear rolls down his face. You use your free hand to wipe it away, cupping his cheek.

“Have me anyway.”

Masterlist

Thank you for reading <3

#arthur shelby x reader #peaky blinders x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader #my writing #tw psychosis #tw psychotic episode

50 notes · View notes