#cry for help - the whisper unseen

[vaaaaaiolet]

He’s away on a mission, but you can’t get him out of your head. Like he’s whispering from miles away. You can't bear how Leon’s presence haunts you. And then one night, you snap.

mdni. f / m, shameless smut but no p in v i swear i'll write it properly ONE DAY. fem masturbation, leon has a rich people bathroom, praise kink, you want him like CRAZY, also i get poetic on you :( and what if it all might be mutual WHOSAIDTHAT

word count: 889 // read on ao3

a/n: mdni / 18+ only, i'm sorry. this is in celebration of reaching 69 posts LMAO also i listened to a lot of fetish by selena. rip pop songs killed by mumble rappers. i <3 u

When Leon leaves for the umpteenth time to chase down bioterrorism’s next Carmen Sandiego, you can’t help but be a little distraught. Pissed for lack of more pleasing verbiage. If the world needed your boyfriend so badly, it could date him itself. 

You were here first. 

And you miss him. 

His paycheck keeps you company more often than he does. It’s not the money’s fault that Leon’s Jacuzzi doesn’t even come close to the molten heat of his skin against yours. He’d left his penthouse to you for a month this time; pressed a kiss to the top of your head and snuck his hand up the curve of your inner thigh right before he disappeared, his whisper like the burn of scotch on rocks: 

“Take care.”

“I’ll keep your place perfect,” you’d ducked to burrow into his heartbeat.

“Not the place, sweetheart. You.”

You’re breaking down, you think. You’re being masochistic, replaying that final exchange over and over and over again as you toss in Leon’s silk sheets. Maybe you’re overworked. His cologne sneaks inside your lungs, his siren song reverbs in your head. Arousal pools like something notorious in the pit of your stomach and Leon’s still not fucking here.

Take care.

Of yourself? Well, if he insisted.

Something unseen jerks you toward his bathroom through your navel. There’s no negotiating, no autonomy over the shaking hands that untie Leon’s favorite robe from your waist, dropping it to the floor in a puddle of blue. 

Good girl. 

Your skin blooms into familiar goosebumps.

Into the tub now.

There’s ancient pleasure in lowering yourself into the warm water. Leon’s bathroom is no Roman bathhouse, but his Jacuzzi gets pretty damn close. It turns you lithe and lush – you’re a goddess in Leon’s palms, in the heat of the water as you dip your head underneath and take your sweet time coming up for air. You set the jets as gentle as they can go. The heat between your legs thrums, compliant with their pace for now.

Another unfortunate fact about your boyfriend: Leon’s like Midas, except anything he touches simply falls under his mercy. It works with you, and it works with the tub because if he were here, he’d turn the knob for the jets to fire at sporadic, impatient intervals.

Taking too long.

The spurts of water behind your back sit you straight up. Your head jerks forward, your hand falls between your legs because there you go, baby, was that so hard? It is hard, it’s unbearable to finally notice the impatient ache that you’ve let fester in Leon’s absence. You gasp as your middle finger brushes against that swollen bundle of nerves. 

Circles, baby. How would I do it?

Your head spins. Leon would click his tongue and brush your hand aside to press a kiss onto your weeping slit, cradle your clit between the bump of his nose and brow, make you cry with a whispered command. Your hips twist in agony. Memories burn and Leon understands that best.

You substitute as best as you can. Hesitatingly dip a finger inside. You don’t know what you’re waiting for because you’ve waited too long.

Little more for me.

Heat sparks impossibly under the Jacuzzi’s water as you grow bold within minutes, rubbing two fingers now in concentric circles, faster and faster. Leon’s somewhere on the other side of the world without a clue that his name’s being whined so pitifully. You sink a third finger in as your arousal mixes with water, bucking helplessly, hopelessly – you’re racing now. Pushing everything out and back in. Miles shrinking to feet. Is this the chase Leon lays down his life for? 

You need Leon to crack you open. You’re up to your knuckles now, his name sounding strung-out in your mouth as you plead to the skies. Where’s the plane bringing him home? 

Almost there. 

You don’t want to be close. Not without him.

You sound perfect. Doing so well.

“God!” You cry out loud. 

Just me, baby.

Embarrassingly enough, you break. You choke on the wave threatening to rend you apart. Pleasure courses between your legs, shipwrecking you in Leon’s tub, your thighs slamming shut as you keel over the tub’s ceramic edge. You’re scrambling to hold on to something to keep afloat as sparks light you on fire. Leon would snicker to himself if he was between your legs like you wanted, cooing pretty things into your ear, the rumble of his laugh stretching the ebb and flow of your orgasm out for however long he desires. He’d whet his appetite for the next time.

“No, no no no…” 

But infuriatingly, he’s not here, and the fireworks in your stomach turn into distress signals as your orgasm clams itself back up with no one to appreciate its showy colors. 

Leftover breaths rattle your ribcage as you stand in the tub. You’re doused in moonlight, a spotlight you don’t want. The strings of leftover slick lining your thighs get wiped away with a paper towel and shamefully shoved down a wastebasket. You can’t keep your hands to yourself for one night?

Pathetic.

And miles away, spread-eagle and groaning your name on stained sheets he’ll need to hide from housekeeping in the morning, Leon shares the sentiment. 

So good for me, Leon.

He’s weak too.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

[ghostfacd]

it’s not what he’s made for | quinn hughes

— “I’M THE SWEETEST GIRL IN TOWN, SO WHY ARE YOU SO MEAN?”

summary; in which you have to accept the fact that quinn hughes will never change and that’s just who he is.

pairing; quinn hughes x fem!reader (platonic jack x reader and luke x reader)

genre; angst, no happy ending, reader has daddy issues, quinn is a pretty shitty person in this (sorry quinnier, love u!)

Quinn Hughes didn’t like you. And you had no idea why.

You had always been Jack’s best friend, ever since the eighth grade when he accidentally tripped you and promised you ice cream if you stopped crying.

Their lake house was nothing new to you; in fact, you’d probably gone a thousand times, an experience other girls could only dream about. You were able to become close to Ellen and Jim, who had found you cute and adorable, glad you were their middle son’s best friend.

Luke, who was younger than you, always looked up to you as his big sister, and every Hughes seem to love you except Quinn.

“You know he’s just grumpy, right?” Jack whispers as he takes a seat next to you on the kitchen stool.

He knew about your feelings towards Quinn, being grossed out at first when you told him that you had liked his older brother. But, you were his best friend, and seeing you so sad over his own brother also broke his heart.

It wasn’t until the day your first serious boyfriend broke up with you that Quinn showed you sympathy. He was an asshole but not that much of an asshole—or so you thought.

You had cried your entire heart out on the lake-house’s dock, body shaking as you tried to steady your breaths. It was just so when Quinn needed a little breather from his brothers, stumbling outside with a cup of iced water in his hand.

He saw your body shake with your head in your hands and connected the dots right away.

“Hey, you okay?” Stupid question, Quinn thinks as soon as he says it out loud.

“No,” you mumble quietly, wiping away your tears. Even with bloodshot eyes and a clogged nose, Quinn thought you looked pretty.

“Was it Adam?”

He knew about your first boyfriend. Jack had complained about this “Adam” as soon as you two started dating. According to Jack, Adam was a self conceited jackass who didn’t deserve you or your time. Quinn only shrugged at the time, not really caring about you or whatever relationship you were in.

“Yeah,” you whisper quietly. The name of your ex makes you cringe. “I was an idiot for dating him.”

“No,” Quinn sets down his cup of iced water, “he was an idiot for treating you that way. Jack told me in the past, you don’t deserve any of that, and he sure as hell doesn’t deserve you.”

For a moment, it was as if you and Quinn had a connection, one that sparked hope in your heart. He was finally showing you kindness and sympathy, something that you had only wished for in the past.

“Thank you Quinn,” you sniffle, looking up to meet his eyes. He smiled softly, an image that will forever root itself in your memory. The only thing you could think of at that moment was how much of a nice smile Quinn Hughes had.

Over the next few days, Quinn and you had become closer, a bond that wasn’t going unseen by Jack or Luke. They had both noticed you weren’t that sad over Adam anymore—and that the older Hughes actually smiled from time to time.

Just as you’re up on your feet again, your father had called you, scolding you about God knows what and calling you all sorts of names.

You thought as soon as you graduated high school, your father would’ve dropped whatever act he was doing, but clearly he was still very adamant on ruining your life. You couldn’t remember how many times you cried because of him.

“Is it him again?” Luke asks, taking a seat next to you on the couch. He saw your sadness the entire day, not sure if he should comfort you or not.

After all, you were the older one, and it was always you comforting him, not the other way around. Luke was still pretty much an awkward child, but he wanted to help you in any way he could.

He knew how your father was. They all knew. Since you were Jack’s best friend, you often came over the house in tears because of what your dad had said.

“Yeah,” you say, trying your best to smile for Luke. “It’s nothing, really.”

“You don’t always have to be strong in front of me,” Luke whispers. “You are not what your father says you are, okay Y/N? You are so much more than that.”

Nodding slowly, you lean into Luke’s chest. He automatically wraps his arm around you, rubbing your arm to let you know he was there.

Quinn watches from the kitchen with a sour taste. In his eyes, you weren’t getting comforted by Luke after crying your eyes out. No—in his eyes, you were getting with his little brother of all people, and God, Quinn hated you for doing so. He hated you for being so annoyingly perfect—he hated that you were always closer to his little brothers. He hated the fact that you were in Luke’s arms instead of his. He hated it.

The next weekend, Umich was hosting its annual senior dance. Your friends had all practically begged you to leave your dorm, saying how you needed to let yourself free for a night. You didn’t really care for the dance, wanting to focus on your business homework instead but of course, your friends weren’t taking no for an answer.

They told you that they had set you up with a date. You shyly decline, saying you already had someone in mind.

That someone being your best friend’s older brother.

Although he was distant these past few days, you shrug it off as Quinn being Quinn. He was always well kept to himself, so it wasn’t anything new.

“Hey Quinn,” you say as you walk into the kitchen. The older Hughes was busying himself with making toast and jam, and had only acknowledge you with a nod of his head.

“I was wondering.. if you’d like to come with me to Umich’s senior dance? It’s just an event hosted by them every year—super fun, lots of drinks, I’d love it if you could—”

“Like a date?” Quinn raises his eyebrows, quickly cutting to the point.

“Well, I guess you can say it’s a date—”

“I’m good Y/N.”

The coldness of his voice makes your heart sink. Oh God, this was such a bad idea. Why would you ask him? Why why why why?

“Oh okay, forget I even asked then,” you laugh nervously, trying hard not to gulp at Quinn.

Quinn only chuckles, his eyebrows furrowing as his gaze turns into something you can’t quite distinguish.

“You.. you didn’t really think I would like you, did you?”

His words make your chest tighten.

“I mean cmon Y/N seriously? What made you think I would ever love you?” Quinn’s voice gets louder. “Cause I wouldn’t—even if I could.”

You wish the ground would just swallow you whole at that moment. It was already bad that Quinn had rejected you, but now he was claiming he would never love you?

“What the fuck Quinn?” The voice of Luke pulls you out of your trance, his face filled with anger. “Why the fuck would you say that Quinn?”

“Of course you would jump to her defense!” Quinn scowls. “Whatever, I don’t care for this, alright? Leave me the hell alone.”

You feel your heart break for the third time this month, eyes filling with tears yet again.

“What is wrong with him?” Luke mumbles to himself, in shock that his brother would say that to you.

He slowly turns his gaze to you, eyes softening at your broken figure. It hurt him to see a girl he considered his older sister so heartbroken over his own brother.

“I’m sorry Y/N,” Luke says into your hair as he hugs you tightly.

“It’s not your fault Luke,” you cry, “I should’ve known. He would never like me. He was just being nice.”

“Hey, stop,” Luke pulls away, looking directly into your eyes. “He’s an idiot if he can’t see how much of an amazing person you are, okay? A big fucking idiot. Don’t beat yourself up over Quinn, he’s not worth any of your tears.”

Luke sighs as he watches your chest rise and fall with each sob. “This whole relationship thing? It’s not what he’s made for.”

“You cannot beat yourself up over a guy who cannot commit Y/N,” Luke whispers. “You’ll find so much better Quinn, I can promise you that.”

But all you wanted was Quinn. Luke was right, even if he was all you wanted, he could never be yours—for Quinn Hughes was not made for relationships, and he was certainly not made for you.

[sunny-mercya]

Red Water

Poly! Billy Loomis and Stu Macher x FTMale Reader

Fandom -> Scream 1996

Requested by -> Anon

Masterlist

Warning: Mention of Period and Blood,

The clean water, with a bit added soap, in the bathtub, once scorching hot—frogging up the window and mirror, leaving glistening droplets on the tiles behind—had long ago turned cold—creating goosebumps on the naked skin and the red water couldn't be any redder anymore, a strong smell of iron lingering in the air.

The first two days—in your monthly week of still remaining Period, a deadweight to endure till it could be finally removed—were always the easiest to manage with barley any pain nor blood, but once the third day hits the mark, it comes crashing in like a unseen flood.

Skyrocketing high waves of pain, so unbearable and uncomfortable that not even four pills of heavy dosed painkillers seemed to help—letting you go into a hysteria of crying and screaming, wanting nothing more but to stab yourself into the stomach and ripping out that reminder of former—of something which you never were to begin with—anatomy still existing inside of you.

And with the pain, so comes the blood and it surely was way more blood than it should be—causing still a great worry for your older siblings, Doctor and Boyfriends—because the amount of blood you're losing within the next three days—when your period has their actual start—could be almost considered of needing a constant transfusion to keep you stable.

So you thought, because sometimes it seemed to help, a good hot bath could soothe your pain—but today it just didn't work and so you continued to lay in the bathtub till the water turned cold and became a murky smelly red.

~~~

»[Name]? Did you fall asleep in there?« Billy knocked on the bathroom door for a third time, annoyance mixing with worry—as you had been in the bathroom for over four hours now and that was never a good sign to begin with.

Billy thought, when you had announced, hours ago—in a small barley audible whisper—you would take a bath, he could do a quick grocery trip—but like said before, that was hours ago and now he's back in your home and you're still in the bathroom.

Billy knocked again, hand sliding up to the doorknob, ready to burst in—if the door is locked, which shouldn't even be—and for once ignoring the boundary of respecting privacy.

It wasn't like Billy or Stu hadn't seen you naked, just not completely nude as it was always only your chest—which after your breast surgery, you liked to show proudly and with a good amount of self confidence and love—and sometimes your and only your ass, when Stu felt like being a naughty silly little shit—and nothing more, after all you had made it pretty clear to them how much you valued the privacy of your body.

»Still no response? Maybe he really did fall asleep?« comment Stu, leaning against the wall and arms slightly crossed.

»Sleeping in cold water for damn four hours? I don't think so. [Name]! We're coming in now!« Billy turned the knob, opening the door and once the ironing smell comes into his nose—Billy was close to recoil, holding back a gag.

Of course Billy had seen blood before, knew that irony smell well, but this was something else—this smell was more foul and more intense, leaving a taste of disgust behind.

»Pff, looks like the red sea, doesn't it?« Stu snorted a bit at his own joke, getting hit in the stomach by Billy within minutes later.

»Not funny Stu. Not the damn time.« gritted Billy out, glaring at Stu slightly—pushing the lanky tall frame of his boyfriend a bit out of way.

»[Name]? Still with us?« Billy asked, getting near the tub, crouching down and poking a finger at your cheek.

You didn't respond, reacted at all, even though you heard your boyfriends very clearly, you just couldn't answer—brain feeling numb and tongue tied up.

Billy sighed out through his nose, dunking his hands into the murky red water and under your armpits—practically fishing you up and out of the tub, waiting for Stu to put the bathrobe around you, before carrying you into your bedroom.

~~~

The texture of the bathrobe and towels, which grazed your naked skin—especially your ass—felt rough and unpleasant, not so soft as they once were before.

There was no other choice of way though, with the heavy bleeding you do, your older sister had long ago established the rule—after you had stained all your underwear, pants and a lot of bedsheets into a mass pile of red colour—that you have to lay on these large towels and wear—when at home—a bathrobe, because you could stain them as much as you want—as your sister didn't need to wash so often than (or rebuy bedsheets and clothes again)

What's even worse to feel, besides the rough texture, is the knowing flowing wetness of blood—which you could practically feel dripping—down there, making you grimace in discomfort.

Stu, not completely aware of your distressing situation—because that's more Billy's area of knowledge—pressed the two hot water bottles a bit harder onto your stomach, believing the pain is the reason for your grimacing face.

»Did he already took painkillers? Maybe we should add up to like ten, maybe than those cramps are going down,« Stu mused out his thoughts, perking up when something akin to an sniffle or small cry like sound emitting from your lips.

»Sometimes, Stu, I'm really question your ability of mind.« Billy looked absolutely done with Stu's nonsense, raising a brow—scowling in slight annoyance.

Stu had the mind of a gutter, when it comes to human senses and the ability of emotional intelligence (and empathy)—but when it comes to mathematics, physics and science, he's a real genius for such subjects (Billy find absolutely boring)

»Just saying, doubling the medications might do wonders of reduce« shrugging his shoulders, Stu turned his attention back to you, grinning brightly he leaned down—pecking your lips.

There was no doubt though, that Stu was way better in showing affection than Billy—as Stu is more extrovert, a people and party person.

Billy shook his head, taking also a seat next to you—forcing a straw to your lips, knowing very well that you have to stay hydrated and having to intake more sugar into your bloodstream, otherwise you would collapse and being send to the hospital.

»C'mon [Nickname] drink up.« Billy said it like a command and when you took a few sips, Billy praised you with a compliment of „Good boy“

Some week in the months might be hard, but with two Boyfriends, like Billy and Stu, at your side—you knew you're in good hands as these two make sure that you're feeling good and comfortable, treating you like a prince.

Simply because, if you can give them love—showering them in a bliss of affection—they can give you comfort in return.

[josephandrewstarkey]

unseen wounds

warnings: angst, panic attacks

❧ drew starkey x reader

Y/N’s apartment felt like a prison.

No matter how many times she locked the door, drew the curtains, or tried to lose herself in distractions, the weight pressing down on her chest refused to lift. The once safe space had become a place of torment—her phone constantly buzzing, flashes from paparazzi outside her building, and the memory of that night playing on a loop in her mind.

It had been a week since the incident. Since that man followed her home. His voice still echoed in her ears—disgusting, threatening, reducing her to something she didn’t recognize. And the worst part was, ever since the news broke, the paparazzi had made her life a spectacle.

“Y/N! Y/N! Look here!”

“How do you feel about the whole situation?”

“Who’s that man? do you know him!?”

Each time she stepped out, they swarmed her like vultures, their cameras flashing, questions being shouted without a shred of compassion. No matter how hard she tried to avoid them, they were relentless.

Today was worse.

A surge of anger and fear had boiled over in a crowded grocery store when a group of photographers trapped her near the exit. Her heart had raced, her vision blurred, and she’d barely managed to make it back to her car. The drive home was a haze. She hadn’t realized she was crying until she’d parked in front of her building. The trembling hadn’t stopped. Her breathing had become shallow, erratic. The panic attack hit her full force, like a wave crashing, pulling her under.

Her first instinct had been to hide, to lock herself away. But it hadn’t worked. The walls felt like they were closing in, her lungs screaming for air she couldn’t get, her heart pounding so hard she thought it might break through her chest. She tried everything—counting, breathing exercises—but nothing was working.

She couldn’t do this alone anymore.

Her trembling hands fumbled with her phone, scrolling through her contacts. She couldn’t call her parents—she didn’t want to worry them. Friends would try to help, but they wouldn’t understand this. This was a different kind of fear. A different kind of anxiety.

Then, she saw Drew’s name. She hesitated for a moment. He had been a good friend—quiet, steady, always there when she needed a listening ear. But ever since they started working together, things had felt different. There was an unspoken tension between them, something more than friendship bubbling beneath the surface. She wasn’t sure if calling him was the right thing to do, but in her panic, he was the only person she wanted near.

She pressed Call.

The phone rang once. Twice. Her heart raced with every passing second, wondering if she’d made a mistake. Maybe she shouldn’t—

“Y/N?”

His voice was steady, calm.

“Drew…” she tried to say, but her voice broke. The sobs that had been threatening to burst free finally escaped, raw and uncontrolled.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. What’s wrong?” His voice softened immediately, concern flooding his tone. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I—” She couldn’t form a complete sentence, the words lost in the chaos of her emotions. “I can’t… i need you.”

“I’m coming over. Just hang in there, alright? I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her, and ended the call. The sound of his voice was like a lifeline, a tether to something real, something stable. She curled up on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, trying to focus on the fact that Drew was coming. He was coming.

Minutes felt like hours, but soon, she heard the knock at her door. Her body was too weak to move quickly, but she managed to get to her feet and unlock the door. The moment she opened it, Drew stepped inside, his face etched with worry.

“Y/N…” His voice was barely above a whisper, and in two steps, he closed the distance between them.

She didn’t think twice. The moment his arms were around her, she collapsed into him, her body wracked with sobs, unable to hold it together any longer. His embrace was warm, solid, and exactly what she needed. He held her tightly, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other wrapped protectively around her trembling form.

“I’m so sorry…” she choked out between sobs, her hands clutching his shirt as if letting go would cause her to fall apart entirely.

“Shh, don’t apologize. It’s okay. I’m here,” he murmured into her hair, his voice soothing as he gently rocked her. “Just breathe, okay? Focus on your breathing.”

But it wasn’t that easy. She had tried, so many times, to breathe, to focus, but her mind was a hurricane, and every time she closed her eyes, she was back there, in that moment, surrounded by strangers who wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

“I can’t… I can’t do this,” she gasped, her fingers tightening their grip on him.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” he whispered, his hand moving to gently rub her back. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

His words, though simple, broke through the storm in her mind, just enough for her to take a shallow breath. Then another. His steady presence, the calm cadence of his voice, gave her something to hold onto when everything else felt like it was falling apart.

“You’re safe,” he repeated, and for the first time in days, she believed it—if only for a moment.

Minutes passed, and slowly, her sobs subsided into quiet sniffles. She hadn’t moved from his arms, still clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping her from falling apart completely.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled again, her voice hoarse.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look her in the eyes, but he didn’t let go. “You don’t have to be sorry. You’ve been through a lot. I’m just glad you called me.”

Her eyes, still red and swollen from crying, searched his face. There was no judgment there, only concern. Genuine concern. “I didn’t know who else to call,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You did the right thing.” His thumb brushed away a stray tear from her cheek. “I’m here now, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

The weight in her chest hadn’t completely lifted, but with Drew there, holding her like she was the most important person in the world, it was bearable. She wasn’t alone anymore.

drew’s pov:

The moment Y/N collapsed into my arms, I knew it was bad—worse than I had imagined. Her body shook with sobs, her breath coming in ragged gasps, and I held her as tightly as I could without hurting her, trying to shield her from whatever storm was raging inside.

How did it get this bad?

I had seen her overworked and exhausted before. We’d both been through the whirlwind of fame, of constant attention, but this was different. This was personal. I could feel her trembling, the fear radiating off her in waves. She wasn’t just tired—she was terrified.

“It’s okay,” I whispered, brushing her hair back from her damp cheeks. “I’m here. You’re safe now.”

Her sobs slowed, but she stayed close, gripping me like I was her only anchor. I didn’t mind. She needed me, and right now, that’s all that mattered. As her breathing started to even out, she whispered an apology, but I quickly hushed her.

“Don’t apologize, Y/N. You don’t have to do this alone.”

She didn’t reply, just let her head rest against my chest, the exhaustion finally catching up to her. I realized then how fragile she looked—so much smaller in my arms than usual, her usual spark gone, replaced by raw vulnerability.

“I think you need to get some rest,” I said softly, stroking her back, my hand tracing calming circles. “Let’s get you into bed, alright?”

She nodded weakly, barely lifting her head as I helped her up. Her legs wobbled, but I kept my arm around her, guiding her slowly towards her bedroom. The room was dimly lit, cluttered with scattered clothes and items she hadn’t had the energy to deal with. It was clear she hadn’t been taking care of herself. My heart twisted at the thought of her suffering like this, isolated, overwhelmed.

“Here, let me help,” I said gently as I reached into the drawer to grab a pair of soft pajamas. She stood in front of me, eyes downcast, too tired to protest.

With careful hands, I helped her change, my movements slow and respectful. She was silent, allowing me to guide her arms through the sleeves of her top and then helping her step into the loose-fitting pajama pants. I avoided looking at her face too much—this was already such an intimate moment, and I didn’t want her to feel any more vulnerable than she already did.

After that, I led her to the bathroom, where I ran a soft cloth under warm water, wringing it out before gently wiping her face. The coolness seemed to calm her further, her eyes fluttering closed as I moved the cloth over her cheeks and forehead. I couldn’t help but notice how fragile she seemed. Her skin was pale, her eyes red from crying, and yet, even in this state, there was something about her—something strong beneath all the fear. She wasn’t broken. Just hurting.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“You don’t have to thank me, Y/N,” I murmured, leaning down a little to catch her eyes. “I’m just glad i’m able to help.”

She offered a weak smile, one that tugged at my chest, and I guided her back to the bedroom, pulling back the blankets on her bed. She crawled in, her movements sluggish, and as she settled in, I gently tucked the covers around her.

I should’ve left then. I should’ve said goodnight and let her sleep, but I couldn’t. Not yet. She was still so fragile, and I could see the lingering anxiety in her eyes. So, without saying anything, I lay down beside her, keeping a little distance, but close enough that she could reach out if she needed me.

Her head turned toward me, eyes half-lidded, and I instinctively lifted a hand to her hair, running my fingers through the soft strands. I wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do, but when I felt her body relax under my touch, I knew she needed it.

I kept stroking her hair in slow, rhythmic motions, hoping it would help her drift off. “You’re safe,” I whispered again, the words soft in the quiet room. “I’m right here.”

Within minutes, her breathing slowed, the tension gradually easing from her body. Her eyes closed fully, and she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep, the kind that comes after too many sleepless nights. I stayed there for a moment longer, watching her, making sure she was truly asleep.

When I was sure she was resting, I carefully slipped out of bed, doing my best not to disturb her. She looked peaceful, the lines of anxiety smoothed away in sleep. It was a small comfort to know she was at ease, even if only for a little while.

I glanced around the room, noticing the scattered clothes, the unopened mail, the empty water bottles by the bedside. It was clear she hadn’t been able to take care of herself properly for days. I could help with that, at least.

Quietly, I began to tidy up, picking up the scattered items, folding clothes, and organizing her bedside table. I tossed the empty water bottles into the trash, feeling a strange sense of calm as I worked. It wasn’t much, but I hoped it would help, even in a small way. I wanted her to wake up and feel like things were a little less chaotic.

Once I was done, I noticed her fridge was practically empty. I couldn’t imagine she’d eaten anything substantial in days. My chest tightened again. She was running on fumes, and I needed to fix that.

I scribbled a quick note and placed it gently next to her on the bed, where she would see it when she woke up:

*“Went to the store to grab a few things. Be back soon. Rest up. –Drew”*

With one last glance at her, peaceful in sleep, I grabbed my keys and quietly slipped out of the apartment.

y/n’s pov:

I woke up with a start, the echo of a nightmare fading from my mind. I blinked against the dim light of the room, my heart racing as a wave of panic washed over me. My hand instinctively reached out to the space beside me—empty.

The familiar anxiety began creeping back in, tightening my chest. The warmth and safety I had felt in his arms just hours ago were gone, replaced by the familiar chill of loneliness. I sat up quickly, my breath catching in my throat.

And then I saw it.

A small piece of paper, right by my pillow, Drew’s familiar handwriting scrawled across it. I picked it up, my fingers trembling as I read the note.

*“Went to the store to grab a few things. Be back soon. Rest up. –Drew”*

My shoulders slumped in relief, the tightness in my chest easing. He hadn’t left. He was coming back.

I leaned back against the headboard, letting the note rest in my lap as I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. I didn’t realize how much I’d needed that reassurance until I had it. Drew had always been my rock, even when I felt like I was falling apart, and now, even in the quiet moments, he still managed to make me feel safe.

I rubbed my eyes, still heavy from sleep, and pulled the covers closer around me. The room was quiet, the soft hum of the fridge in the next room the only sound. I let my mind wander, focusing on the comfort of knowing that I wasn’t alone. For the first time in days, I felt a little lighter.

Just then, I heard the sound of the front door opening. My heart fluttered, and I sat up straighter, folding the note carefully as I placed it back on the nightstand. A moment later, Drew appeared in the doorway, balancing grocery bags in his arms, his face soft with concern but a small smile tugging at his lips when he saw me awake.

“Hey,” he said quietly, stepping into the room. “How’re you feeling?”

I gave him a tired smile, my voice still hoarse from crying. “Better. I saw your note.”

He nodded, setting the bags down on the dresser before walking over to the bed. “I didn’t want you to wake up alone and worry. Thought I’d grab a few things for you, stock up your fridge a bit.”

Tears welled up in my eyes again, but this time they weren’t from fear. They were from the overwhelming gratitude I felt in that moment. Drew was doing everything he could to take care of me, even when I felt like I didn’t deserve it.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion.

He knelt down beside the bed, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “I wanted to. You’ve been going through too much on your own, Y/N. You don’t have to carry it all by yourself anymore.”

His words were a balm to my frayed nerves, soothing the rawness inside me. I reached out, taking his hand in mine, squeezing it lightly.

“Thank you,” I said softly. “For everything.”

Drew gave my hand a gentle squeeze in return, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “I’m always here, you know that, right?”

I nodded, letting the warmth of his presence settle over me again. He stood up, glancing toward the kitchen. “I’m gonna put this stuff away, then I’ll make you something to eat. You probably haven’t had a real meal in a while.”

I didn’t protest this time. I knew he was right, and the thought of having him take care of something as simple as dinner was a relief. I leaned back against the pillows, watching as he disappeared into the kitchen with the grocery bags.

The sounds of him moving around, the quiet clatter of dishes and the opening of cabinets, filled the apartment, making it feel alive again. I closed my eyes, letting the sounds lull me into a peaceful calm, knowing that, for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t facing everything alone.

Drew was here.

And that made all the difference.

[thebadgerclan]

Unaware

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x reader

Summary: Some at the Sanctuary are unaware of who you are...

A/N: This is the “protective husband fluff” that I mentioned earlier, but I don’t have an exam next week, so I’m gonna write the other one to lol

I was thinking about how much I think Aleksander would hate people saying that his wife “belongs to him” and crap, so voila

Y/G/T is your Grisha type (Heartrender, Inferni, etc.) and Y/G/C is your Grisha color (red, blue, purple)

Life at the Sanctuary was…different than you were used to.  At the Little Palace, there was order; the Grisha had their duties and were kept busy by them, they had their ranks and they stuck to them.  But here, in this abandoned noble’s country estate, with no formal training, no Second Army duties to attend to, no children to teach, the Grisha were restless.  Restless, and some angry about what had happened to your people, angry that General Kirigan had taken so long to rescue some of them.

And there were Grisha being brought in every day, some that had never resided at the Little Palace, and therefore, had no idea who you were.  It didn’t help that when you’d fled the Little Palace, you’d been in your Y/G/C kefta rather than your black, making you appear as just another Y/G/T rather than the wife of the General.  There was one such Grisha, Androv, who hadn’t lived at the Palace, and had no idea who you were, that you tried impossibly hard to avoid, but to no avail.

You were in what had become the mess hall of the Sanctuary, several sheets of parchment spread before you.  Aleksander had asked you to compile a list of the Grisha who had been known residents of the Little Palace that had yet to arrive at the Sanctuary, in the hopes that a search party could be assembled.  But you’d barely scratched the surface when the roster you were referencing was swept from the table on a gust of wind.

“Hello beautiful,” Androv greeted, and you suppressed the urge to roll your eyes.  “Androv,” you replied curtly, rising from your seat to retrieve your paper.  “Is there something I can do for you?”  The Squaller smirked, flicking his wrist and blowing the paper further away from you.  “You’ve been playing hard to get, haven’t you?  Pretending you don’t see me, acting like you don’t know what I want.”

Everyone in the mess hall had turned to watch; those who knew who you were with fear in their eyes, those who didn’t with concern and interest.  “I don’t know what you mean,” you said, stooping to reach for the roster.  Androv stepped closer to you, his body pressed to yours.  You shot upright, body going stiff, blood running cold.  “Get away from me,” you whispered, panic seeping in.

You knew you should shove him away, use your power to get him away from you, but fear had frozen you, stealing your ability to call your power.  Unseen, the nichevo’ya that followed you always slithered from the room, intent to alert its master to your distress.  Aleksander, who was in the room he’d claimed as his study, felt a knot form in his chest and abandoned his work, rushing through the corridors towards the pull he felt to you.

“And where would be the fun in that, darling?” Androv cooed, wrapping his arms around your middle.  You wanted to fight, to scream, to do anything, but you were petrified.  Tears streaked down your cheeks, and the Squaller laughed.  “So pretty when you cry,” he sneered.  A dreadful, cold, sickening feeling had filled Aleksander’s chest, and he broke into a run, needing to find you, to protect you from whatever was causing you such feelings.

“What are you doing?” Fruzsi, your husband’s new second, asked as she entered.  Androv turned to face her, but did not let you go.  “Oh relax,” he said, rolling his eyes.  “It’s just a bit of fun.”  The Tidemaker stepped closer, and while you didn’t quite like the woman, at least she was coming to your defense.  “She belongs to Kirigan!”  It was at that moment that Aleksander entered, and at the sight before him and Fruzsi’s words, his nichevo’ya writhed angrily.

“I will give you exactly ten seconds to unhand my wife and explain what gives you the right to attempt to force yourself on any woman,” your husband said, voice dangerous.  Androv shoved you to the ground, as if that would be any redemption, and you cried out.  Aleksander came to your side, offering you his hands and gently helping you to your feet.  “Aleksander, I… he…”  

“Shhh, it’s alright, my love,” you husband soothed, wrapping you in his arms.  His voice was calm and gentle, but his gaze was murderous.  The nichevo’ya skittered around you, but you knew that they were protecting you, that they could never hurt you.  “Do you care to explain yourself?” your husband asked.  “I didn’t know,” Androv stuttered.  “I didn’t know she belonged to you.”

You felt Aleksanders anger spike, as well as saw it; his shadow monsters shrieked.  “Allow me to make one thing perfectly clear,” he said.  “To all of you.  Y/N does not belong to anyone.  She belongs to herself.  Yes, she is my wife, but she does not belong to me.”  Aleksander flicked his wrist, and an inky gash opened on Fruzsi’s cheek.  “Why?” she screamed, and your husband scoffed.  “What have I done?”

“You implied that Y/N is property.  That, Fruszi, was a warning.  As for you.”  Your husband pressed a kiss to your cheek and whispered for you to look away as he unwound his arms from your body.  “Not only did I witness you forcing your attentions on one of my soldiers, I witnessed you forcing your attentions on my wife.  And I do not take such an offense lightly.”

With another flick of his wrist a nichevo’ya surged forth and attacked, tearing Androv’s head from his body, his face permanently etched into a scream.  Aleksander immediately took you back into his arms, holding you close.  “Let this be a lesson,” he said, addressing his Grisha.  “To those who would try to disrespect my wife, and to those who attempt to force themselves upon anyone else.”

Aleksander lifted you into his arms and carried you from the room, his nichevo’ya trailing obediently behind.  When you were back in your rooms, he gently sat on the bed, keeping you in his lap.  “My love, are you alright?” he asked, looking you over for any sign of injury.  “I’m so sorry, I should have known, I should have taken care of him before.”  “I’m alright,” you said, sniffling.  “Shaken, but alright.  He was really just irritating until…”

“That will never happen again,” your husband vowed.  “I’m so sorry, Y/N, I’m so sorry that you had to endure that.”  Aleksander pulled you close, and you let yourself drown in his embrace.  “You were there,” you whispered, kissing his collarbones, where your head rested.  “He didn’t hurt me, and you were there.”  Your husband squeezed his eyes shut, resting his forehead against yours.

“I love you so much, my Y/N,” he whispered, and you pressed your lips to his.  With your kiss, you felt some of the tension drain out of him, and you wrapped your arms around his neck.  “I will do everything within my power to protect you.”  “I know you will, Aleksander,” you replied, kissing him again.  “I love you.”  In a perfect world, Aleksander would be at your side constantly, defending you from any and every threat.

 But this was not a perfect world: he was at war, his people were fractured, his resources were spread thin.  It simply wasn’t possible to protect you from everything, especially from the people he thought he could trust, the people he thought were on his side.  But what Aleksander could do, he would.  He would ensure his soldiers knew who you were; that you were to be respected and to be protected.  He would have his nichevo’ya follow you, to alert him to any imminent threat.  And while it wouldn’t protect you, he would love you–he would love you so fiercely and completely that you might just forget about the war raging on your doorstep.

[sassenach77yle]

||COUNTDOWN ||SEASON 2 EPISODE 06 || BEST LAID SCHEMES... ||

#83daysofoutlander☆

turned back the lid and stood still, staring into the box. For a moment, my mind refused to register what my eyes saw; the folded white square of paper, carefully wedged upright between the multicolored bottles. I noted rather abstractedly that my fingers shook as I took the paper out; it took several tries to unfold it.

I am sorry.

The words were bold and black, the letters carefully formed in the center of the sheet, the single letter “J” written with equal care below. And below that, two more words, these scrawled hastily, done as a postscript of desperation: I must!

“You must,” I murmured to myself, and then my knees buckled. Lying on the floor, with the carved panels of the ceiling flickering dimly above, I found myself thinking that I had always heretofore assumed that the tendency of eighteenth-century ladies to swoon was due to tight stays; now I rather thought it might be due to the idiocy of eighteenth-century men. There was a cry of dismay from somewhere nearby, and then helpful hands were lifting me, and I felt the yielding softness of the wool-stuffed mattress under me, and cool cloths on my brow and wrists, smelling of vinegar. I was soon restored to what senses I had, but strongly disinclined to talk. I reassured the maids that I was in fact all right, shooed them out of the room, and lay back on the pillows, trying to think. It was Jack Randall, of course, and Jamie had gone to kill him. That was the only clear thought in the morass of whirling horror and speculation that filled my mind. Why, though? What could have made him break the promise he had made me?[...]

"Frank,” I said, and my left hand curled involuntarily over the shimmer of my gold wedding ring. “Oh, dear God. Frank.” For Jamie, Frank was no more than a ghost, the dim possibility of a refuge for me, in the unlikely event of necessity. For me, Frank was the man I had lived with, had shared my bed and body with—had abandoned, at the last, to stay with Jamie Fraser. “I can’t,” I whispered, to the empty air, to the small companion who stretched and twisted lazily within me, undisturbed by my own distress. “I can’t let him do it!” The afternoon light had faded into the gray shades of dusk, and the room seemed filled with all the despair of the world’s ending. Tomorrow’s dawn will see you dead. There was no hope of finding Jamie tonight. I knew he would not return to the Rue Tremoulins; he wouldn’t have left that note if he were coming back. He could never lie beside me through the night, knowing what he intended doing in the morning. No, he had undoubtedly sought refuge in some inn or tavern, there to ready himself in solitude for the execution of justice that he had sworn. I thought I knew where the place of execution would be. With the memory of his first duel strong in his mind, Jamie had shorn his hair in preparation. The memory would have come to him again, I was sure, when choosing a spot to meet his enemy. The Bois de Boulogne, near the path of the Seven Saints. The Bois was a popular place for illicit duels, its dense growth sheltering the participants from detection. Tomorrow, one of its shady clearings would see the meeting of Jamie Fraser and Jack Randall. And me. I lay on the bed, not bothering to undress or cover myself, hands clasped across my belly. I watched the twilight fade to black, and knew I would not sleep tonight. I took what comfort I could in the small movements of my unseen inhabitant, with the echo of Jamie’s words ringing in my ears: Tomorrow’s dawn will see you dead.

The Bois de Boulogne was a small patch of almost-virgin forest, perched incongruously on the edge of Paris. It was said that wolves as well as foxes and badgers were still to be found lurking in its depths, but this story did nothing to discourage the amorous couples that dallied under the branches on the grassy earth of the forest. It was an escape from the noise and dirt of the city, and only its location kept it from becoming a playground for the nobility. As it was, it was patronized largely by those who lived nearby, who found a moment’s respite in the shade of the large oaks and pale birches of the Bois, and by those from farther away who sought privacy.[...]

The carriage pulled to a stop on the road that led through the Bois, near the last small cluster of ramshackle buildings. I had told the coachman what to do; he swung down from his seat, tethered the horses, and disappeared among the buildings. The folk who lived near the Bois knew what went on there. There could not be that many spots suitable for dueling; those there were would be known. I sat back and pulled the heavy cloak tighter around me, shivering in the cold of the early dawn. I felt terrible, with the fatigue of a sleepless night dragging at me, and the leaden weight of fear and grief resting in the pit of my stomach. Overlying everything was a seething anger that I tried to push away, lest it interfere with the job at hand. It kept creeping back, though, bubbling up whenever my guard was down, as it was now. How could he do this? my mind kept muttering, in a cold fury. I shouldn’t be here; I should be home, resting quietly by Jamie’s side. I shouldn’t have to be pursuing him, preventing him, fighting both anger and illness. A nagging pain from the coach ride knotted at the base of my spine. Yes, he might well be upset; I could understand that. But it was a man’s life at stake, for God’s sake. How could his bloody pride be more important than that? And to leave me, with no word of explanation! To leave me to find out from the gossip of neighbors what had happened. “You promised me, Jamie, damn you, you promised me!” I whispered, under my breath. The wood was quiet, dripping and mist-shrouded. Were they here already? Would they be here? Was I wrong in my guess about the place?

The coachman reappeared, accompanied by a young lad, perhaps fourteen, who hopped nimbly up on the seat beside the coachman, and waved his hand, gesturing ahead and to the left. With a brief crack of the whip and a click of the tongue, the coachman urged the horses into a slow trot, and we turned down the road into the shadows of the wakening wood. We stopped twice, pausing while the lad hopped down and darted into the undergrowth, each time reappearing within a moment or two, shaking his head in negation. The third time, he came tearing back, the excitement on his face so evident that I had the carriage door open before he got near enough to call out to the coachman. I had money ready in my hand; I thrust it at him, simultaneously clutching at his sleeve, saying, “Show me where! Quickly, quickly!”

I scarcely noticed either the clutching branches that laced across the path, nor the sudden wetness that soaked my clothing as I brushed them. The path was soft with fallen leaves, and neither my shoes nor those of my guide made any sound as I followed the shadow of his ragged, damp-spotted shirt. I heard them before I saw them; they had started. The clash of metal was muffled by the wet shrubbery, but clear enough, nonetheless. No birds sang in the wet dawn, but the deadly voice of battle rang in my ears. It was a large clearing, deep in the Bois, but accessible by path and road. Large enough to accommodate the footwork needed for a serious duel. They were stripped to their shirts, fighting in the rain, the wet fabric clinging, showing the outline of shoulder and backbone. Jamie had said he was the better fighter; he might be, but Jonathan Randall was no mean swordsman, either. He wove and dodged, lithe as a snake, sword striking like a silver fang. Jamie was just as fast, amazing grace in such a tall man, light-footed and sure-handed. I watched, rooted to the ground, afraid to cry out for fear of distracting Jamie’s attention. They spun in a tight circle of stroke and parry, feet touching lightly as a dance on the turf. I stood stock-still, watching. I had come through the fading night to find this, to stop them. And having found them, now I could not intervene, for fear of causing a fatal interruption. All I could do was wait, to see which of my men would die. [...]

Through a blackening mist, I saw Jamie’s sword come down, graceful and deadly, cold as death. The point touched the waist of the doeskin breeches, pierced and cut down in a twisting wrench that darkened the fawn with a sudden flood of black-red blood. The blood was a hot rush down my thighs, and the chill of my skin moved inward, toward the bone. The bone where my pelvis joined my back was breaking; I could feel the strain as each pain came on, a stroke of lightning flashing down my backbone to explode and flame in the basin of my hips, a stroke of destruction, leaving burnt and blackened fields behind. My body as well as my senses seemed to fragment. I saw nothing, but could not tell whether my eyes were open or closed; everything was spinning dark, patched now and then with the shifting patterns you see at night as a child, when you press your fists against shut eyelids. The raindrops beat on my face, on my throat and shoulders. Each heavy drop struck cold, then dissolved into a tiny warm stream, coursing across my chilled skin. The sensation was quite distinct, apart from the wrenching agony that advanced and retreated, lower down. I tried to focus my mind on that, to force my attention from the small, detached voice in the center of my brain, the one saying, as though making notes on a clinical record: “You’re having a hemorrhage, of course. Probably a ruptured placenta, judging from the amount of blood. Generally fatal. The loss of blood accounts for the numbness in hands and feet, and the darkened vision. They say that the sense of hearing is the last to go; that seems to be true.” Whether it were the last of my senses to be left to me or not, hearing I still had. And it was voices I heard, most agitated, some striving for calmness, all speaking in French. There was one word I could hear and understand—my own name, shouted over and over, but at a distance. “Claire! Claire!” “Jamie,” I tried to say, but my lips were stiff and numb with cold. Movement of any kind was beyond me. The commotion near me was settling to a steadier level; someone had arrived who was at least willing to act as though they knew what to do. Perhaps they did. The soaked wad of my skirt was lifted gently from between my thighs, and a thick pad of cloth thrust firmly into place instead. Helpful hands turned me onto my left side, and drew my knees up toward my chest. “Take her to the Hôpital,” suggested one voice near my ear. “She won’t live that long,” said another, pessimistically. “Might as well wait a few minutes, then send for the meat wagon.” “No,” insisted another. “The bleeding is slowing; she may live. Besides, I know her; I’ve seen her at L’Hôpital des Anges. Take her to Mother Hildegarde.”

I summoned all the strength I had left, and managed to whisper, “Mother.” Then I gave up the struggle, and let the darkness take me.

24 THE BOIS DE BOULOGNE ~Dragonfly in amber

[danikamariewrites]

hi i absolutely love your writing, like i go through ur page everyday, like i have my notifications on so everytime you post i click so fast 😩🤞like you’re a celebrity in my eyes and i get so giddy when you post.

I think i sent in a req w feysand x reader where they’re on the battlefield. They’re in formation and standing ready to attack. Reader sacrifices herself by using a hidden power that no one knows about, she rivals even rhysands power and no one expected her to have this much power. she winnows closer to their enemies and rhys and feyre screams for her to run back or get away. Reader looks at them with sorrow, love and determination a last time and let’s her power loose, oblitirating all of the enemies before the war even starts. By some miracle she survives but is so close to death and nesta saves her. Reader is unconcious for almost a week before she wakes up and they all talk and reunite, angst to fluff pleaseeeee🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

i don’t remember if i sent this in or if i’m bugging out but pls ignore if I already did🧎‍♀️❤️

Sacrifice

Feysand x reader

A/n: thank you anon, ur literally going to make me cry and boost my ego plz 😭🥹 I hope you like the fic

Warnings: angst, near death experience, fluff at the end

You heard Cassian calling for soldiers to fall in formation. Taking a deep breath you exit the tent you share with Feyre and Rhys. Your mates. Tears line your eyes as you think about this morning with them. How you’ll never see them again.

You send a prayer to the Mother, begging her to watch over them when your gone. You thought back to your conversation with Nesta last night.

“If something goes wrong I need you to help contain it.” Nesta shook her head in disbelief at your words. “Why have you never told anyone about your powers?” “I never had it under control. I pushed them down all my life but I think I can take them out.” The look Nesta gave you would send a normal person running. But you knew deep down that look meant she was scared for you.

“Y/n, what do I even tell them if they ask about your powers?” “I don’t know. I won’t ask you to lie for me. Can you tell them I love them, and that I’m sorry.” Nesta flings her arms around your neck, squeezing you to her body. “Just try. Try to live.” “I will.” You whispered against her chest.

You watch the soldiers hurrying to get in line on the ground and in the sky. Cassian’s red siphons glinted in the sunlight as you smiled sadly at him. Besides your mates and Nesta you’d miss Cassian the most. You two always had the best inside jokes.

You kneel on ground outside the tent, unsheathing your sword from your back and unlatch your shield. Lifting your sword you drive it into the hard earth and hang your shield from the hilt. You’re not going to need it. Besides, Rhys and Feyre would want to have it.

Making yourself unseen you weave in and out of the lines of soldiers until you make it to the front where your mates won’t see you. You stare down the line at them. They look so stoic and determined. They’ll get through this, they’ll win this war like they have before.

First is the magic. You let both sides do their thing, watching the world around you rumble with warring powers. The enemy side starts to slowly advance. Now is your opportunity.

You winnow to the middle of the battlefield. Rhys is banging on your mental shields, “What do you think you’re doing!” Slamming your sheilds up you push him out. The opposing side starts to run at you. Feyre let’s out a blood curdling scream and Rhys grabs her by the waist, keeping Feyre from running to you.

Turning to face them you see their distraught faces. You give them one last smile, sending love and adoration down the bond. You turn back to the army now sprinting at you. Digging your feet into the dirt you hold your hands out by your sides.

Closing your eyes you dove deep down into your power. You have been building it up for a year for this exact moment. To wipe what was left of Koschei and Hybern from Prythian. To show General Morgana she has nothing left but a useless cause.

A silvery-purple light flecked with swirls of night shine from your palms, then radiating from your entire body. You didn’t let go until the first soldiers were steps away. Realizing the mistake they made. The ground shook causing the soldiers to collapse but you stayed standing.

Locking eyes with General Morgana you saw her face contorted in shock and panic. You smirked at her. You let your power rip from your body. Violet night consumed the soldiers, ripping them limb from limb until they were nothing but ash on the wind.

You threw your power out as far as you could. Decimating more half of Morgana’s army. Good. Your mates would live.

Your power slowly faded around you. The beautifully grim night falling with you. You couldn’t feel anything. Not even the numbness that you were sure was taking over your limbs. All you knew was that you were falling. The trip to the ground beneath you feeling endless.

As your head bounced the last thing you saw was all out war, then nothing.

—

When the fighting was over Nesta was the first one off the battlefield. She came flying into your tent scaring the shit out of two young healers. They tried to ask Nesta to leave and she responded by basically growling. The poor females backed off letting Nesta kneel by your cot.

Madja’s apprentice, Adria, glared at Nesta over your body. Her signal to let Nesta explain what she was doing in here scaring her healers. “I can help.” Adria nodded.

Nesta laid her hands on your stomach, summoning her silver flames. Days ago the two of you discovered your magics complimented each other. Nesta could balance out your chaos. She felt your magic calming as soon as hers touched it.

Your shallow breaths changed to even one’s as your chest started visibly moving. Nesta let out a sigh of relief as she felt you come back from the brink of death. She slumped back on the floor and Adria announced that you were stable.

Feyre and Rhys shoved the tent flaps open, storming in ready to demand answers. Once they noticed the calm atmosphere Rhys immediately went to Adria asking her what was going on.

“She’s stable but won’t be up for some time. Y/n will need lots of rest given the amount of power she used. And you can thank Nesta, without her it would’ve taken us double the time to save her.” Feyre looked at her sister. Nesta didn’t know if she should be offended or not by the look of shock Feyre gave her.

Within the hour you were moved back to your room in the House of Wind. It was eight days by the time you finally woke up. Rhys and Feyre had tried to stay with you the whole time but they were needed around the city and dragged off to meetings on other courts.

Your eyes slowl6 blinked open as you took in the familiar sun lit room. Nuala entered with a tray in her hand dropping it immediately when she saw you sitting up. Soundlessly she ran off to alert Rhys and Feyre.

Minutes later you heard thundering footsteps racing down the hall. Your mates came to halt in the open doorway, silver lining their eyes. Without thinking Feyre launched herself at you, practically laying on top of you as she embraced you.

“You idiot! You stupid, stupid idiot! I’m so happy you’re awake!” She pulled back from you to look at your face. Hers looked like she hadn’t slept in days, worry lining her beautiful features. “Please never do that again. I don’t want to lose you,” Feyre quietly pleaded with you.

“Never,” you whispered. Rhys came into view, plopping down next to you in bed laying a smacking kiss on your cheek. Exhaustion was clear in his face as well. “Not to dampen the mood but we are going to have to talk about your powers.” Feyre smacked his arm. “Can you not kill the mood for five minutes?”

You giggled at your mates arguing. Using all your strength you snaked your arms around Feyre’s waist. Showing her it was ok to put her weight on you. Rhys ran his fingers through your hair and rested his lips on your forehead. Feyre tucked her face into your neck as you all sat in comfortable silence.

You’d have to thank Nesta when you were eventually allowed out of bed. This is just the start of their doting and mother hening. You didn’t mind though. You were just happy that you could be here to be doted on by your mates.

[overtaken-stream]

This whole part is just King going, "My favorite color is dark, like my soul." also, this gif is so hot omfg I can't with him, I have a smut idea for him, and if I do, somehow wrap my head around it, I'll post it here and on ao3.

Yandere!King The Wildfire x reader Pt2.

It was a hasty decision, done in reaction he is unsure what to call, hardy he could handle himself when in your vicinity, it was a feeling of something intruding someplace it had no business being.

Similar to you in this situation.

His room was devoid of human touch, obviously because he barely used it, postponing his sleep until the flames on his back would collapse in on themselves, and he felt the consequences every time. It complemented his suit and the general aura he tries to surround himself with when dealing with Kaidou's henchmen, dark and containing no distractions. One specially made bed with dark covers, straightened against the wooden walls, on the other side was a wardrobe that seemed giant to a normal-sized human; unlike others, it was decorated and carefully carved, leaves, waves, ships, eyes, and unseen mysterious symbols were embedded into the burnt wood.

``It's an interesting texture.`` He remembers thinking, though he can no longer put his finger on how he got it in the first place.

And yet, in the grim surroundings, there was a light his flames could never compare to; warmth, no matter how hard he tries, will never radiate from him. It was similar to that dark house where he first laid his eyes upon you. You who have not changed nor moved on from that moment, you who trembles and shakes, cry and call out for help, insult him, and corner yourself in a place where you feel defended.

He has been in your shoes before, a long time ago, he can't be sure.

Perhaps the understanding is the cause of his heavy heart, taken away from home in such a way... He can feel his throat close up as your hunched figure shines in his view. Grime stuck itself onto your limbs, knees, and hands decorated with splinters of all sizes, hair matted and filthy from ash and smoke, and its smell follows him in his showers as he allows himself to let free of his suit. It's so recognizable.

And if his heart clenched everytime he saw you in this horrible position, nobody had to know. Not even him, it was a can of worms King won't dare to touch.

He remembers bits of information about his race, long lost to time and humanity, the whispers that came in the form of dreams speckled across his mind and reflections; the delusions and validity are mixed within his remembrances, the real and fake are smelting into and out of each other, his past is forgotten even by him, the lineage of mighty warriors feared by all is smeared across the walls with mud and blood mixed with heartfelt feelings.

In a memory long before the laboratory, his tiny ears picked up information, a word that defines and tames a feeling of awe he is experiencing—a SoulMate.

Lost words from his Ma that he was too young to understand finally make sense, a connection of minds, unconditional love, and a total understanding of each other. It's about being oneself and knowing others, a SoulMate is following and understanding One's thoughts, but They're right there with the One, side by side. Completing the soul and tying the Lunarian instincts of animals into a pretty bowtie. A Soul and a Mate.

Love at first sight doesn't exist because even if King has not experienced it before, he is not fooled by others' thinking, Love dependent on sight is lust.

But he didn't see you first, did he? He felt you.

Kaidou is not obligated to put up with a civilian within his chambers, under his roof, where the empire buzzes with insignificant life, but it has been hours after they departed from your home island, now a kingdom of ash and debris, a few hours he has spent watching you with motionless crimson eyes.

The monster gets up from the throne, the squicking of leather alerting you of his movement, forcing you to turn towards him; the last time he made any move was when he sat down on the chair you can't quite make out in the dim moonlighting, your quivers, and sniffles fade out as he gets further away from you, his broad back is turned.

It's time he explained himself.

The cold yet quiet air is disturbed when he lights up the flames on his back, coloring this room in warm shades.

Your swollen eyes and snot-filled nose could only gasp for air as he slowly turned his face back to you.

``I'll come back.`` he slams the heavy door shut.

The smell of smoke lingers in the air, the disgusting dirt of your suffering sticks onto your skin, seeps through the crack, and marks the invisible scars into your psyche.

You wished, for the first time, that a promise would be broken.

``tsk...`` the angry and tear-stained eyes turn away from the door.

Left unchecked, fear turns into irritation, irritation into anger.

Balled fists shake, out of fear, out of anger.

[odiesdayoff]

So Undercover (3)

pair: Dark!Edward Nashton x fem!reader

summary: You get a little too caught up in an undercover job to unravel the Riddler.

warnings: intimidation; threats; murder; gaslighting; stalking; mentions of past noncon/smut

Part 2

“He called me a whore. Said I needed to be taught a lesson.” You wrapped your arms around Edward’s neck and buried your face into his shoulders. He got to the library as fast as he possibly could, in just about twenty minutes from the time you called. “I don’t want to do it anymore.”

He gently stroked your back and let you cry into his shirt. “They made you talk to a serial killer and didn’t think that he would target you?”

You shook your head. “It’s not even a successful thing. I barely know anything about him and he knows everything about me. I think he’s going to kill me.”

With how hard you were crying, Edward’s smirk was unseen by you. He couldn’t help it. You’d fallen right into his little trap. “It’ll be okay.” You pulled away from him and allowed him to wipe the tears from your cheeks. 

~~

It was all too…surreal. To say the least. Going back to the precinct, back to work after everything that happened. You tried to hide the heat that remained on your cheeks, surely leaving at least a small tint of color different from the hue of your skin. How could embarrassment feel so much worse after the fact? All you had to do was go into the commissioner’s office and tell him that the mission was pointless. It was like telling a parent that they were wrong. 

You pushed open the thick oak doors and immediately locked eyes with the man. Pete Savage. You didn’t exactly know what his deal was, but he was never one of the “good” or “not corrupt” cops in the bunch. The doors squeaked unceremoniously shut behind you. It was then that you no longer felt like an adult, but rather a kid who was called to the principal’s office. “I wanted to talk about the Riddler Case, sir. I, well, I don’t think it’s working.” The words articulated themselves much better when you practiced them in the bathroom mirror. 

He gestured to the chair on the other side of the desk and you hesitantly took a seat. You couldn’t control the way your leg began to bounce, even with your hand resting on it. “What’s the problem?” His voice was attempting to sound kind, though the hint of annoyance still seeped through. It was still up in the air whether he was only being kind because he felt bad for you or it was just because you were a woman. 

“I no longer feel safe in my home or at work. I don’t know if you’ve seen the report from the other night, but my apartment was broken into. That, and the… sample I provided.” The embarrassment crept up once again, blood rushing to your cheeks. Admitting that a crime so personal had occurred seemed to be worse than the crime itself.

He gave you a lone nod and sighed. Was…he stopping himself from rolling his eyes? “I’m aware. I couldn’t help but notice that there were no signs of a break-in and as for the sample, are you sure it wasn’t some residue of a night you don’t want to admit to your boss?” The smirk grew as he began to think of the situation. 

“He made a key. That also means he’s been there before.” The idea had only just come to your mind. What if he’s been in your apartment while you were sleeping? You wouldn’t put it past him. You had already asked your landlord to change the locks of your front door. “And at the library. He cornered me and threatened me.”

He folded his hands and leaned forward. “You’re aware that our insurance policy covers psychiatric care, right? We have no evidence to confirm that you’re in danger. I’ll relieve you from this case for your own sake.”

You wanted to scream, cry, protest, and tell him exactly how he was wrong. Instead, you weakly nodded. You should’ve known he wouldn’t take you seriously. “Thank you, sir.” Tears threatened to spill, but you held yourself together.

In the back room again, you sorted files while angrily whispering your complaints about the commissioner. Pete Savage was nothing but a ridiculous misogynist. Corrupt, too. How can you be presented with all this information and still claim that you weren’t in danger? Who knows what might’ve happened had you not been able to use the fire escape? Not like he would care all that much.

Annette leaned against the doorframe, watching you as she usually did when she didn’t want to do her job. “Thompson told me about some secret mission you were doing while I was away. Also, I heard you just got thrown off of it.” You didn’t know what to call her slightly mocking tone. Was it holier-than-thou? I told you so?

“I left.” Anything more than a curt response was more than she deserved.

“Mhm. Well, I wouldn’t do anything like that. Not in the job description.” Like she ever did what was in her job description. That would be far too much to ask of her. How you were getting paid less than her and remain her subordinate only cemented the existence of extreme corruption in this precinct.

You angrily set the files on the floor. Well, more passive-aggressively than angry. “I was just trying to help.”

You had to keep pushing the thought of the videos and photos existing as a form of blackmail to the back of your mind. So what if you lost your job? It’s not that you necessarily enjoyed it. Life would be so much better if you could leave it and this whole godforsaken city behind you. 

~~

The older man at the desk worked relatively slowly to take in your phone and laptop. He only raised a brow when you asked for the same makes and models to trade in. “Most people choose the upgrade plan for an extra hundred.” He would repeat this until you could no longer count them on two hands. 

The sun had set by the time you reached your apartment. Your landlord handed you the new keys to the locks right as you stepped into the building. For the first time in a while, you felt safe. Nobody was watching anymore. You could breathe. 

As soon as your laptop connected to the wifi, you started to look through the online job forums. The sooner you get away from the precinct, the better. With each link you pressed, the screen would flash entirely black, only for a fraction of a second. Must’ve been a buggy site.

You sipped your tea and continued to look through the job openings. It had been quite a while since you had to do this. You were lucky enough to get your job straight out of school. Maybe you’d actually get paid what you deserved this time. 

The screen flashed again, this time a deep shade of green. You lost control of your cursor. It inched towards the top of the screen, your eyes following it while running your finger across the touchpad. It opened a new tab and then started typing. 

<?> DID YOU THINK YOU COULD GET RID OF ME <?>

You nearly choked on your tea. The laptop redirected to the same website you used to chat before. You stood from your chair. How could he possibly get in so fast? After you had been so careful? 

<?> You forgot about the windows.

He was right. You hated that he was right. In the rush of trying to cover all of your bases, you’d forgotten one of the most crucial entrances to your apartment. For all you knew, he was already through and waiting for you to try and close them. 

The front door. You could leave through there, call the GCPD, and he’d have nowhere to go. A one-way ticket to prison, or more realistically, Arkham. And you’d finally have the sense of freedom and relief you’ve been desperately wanting. 

First, the deadbolt. Then, the lock on the doorknob. You expected to see your escape when you frantically swung open the door, but there he stood. A boot collided with the door when you tried to close it on him. One gloved hand wrapped around your neck, the other on your hip.

This wasn’t like the library. That was public and he had to somewhat keep his plan contained. One curious bystander trying to be a hero could ruin everything. You were entirely in private, especially after he pushed himself in and kicked the door shut. 

“You’re so predictable. Naive. How did I know you’d try to outsmart me? I’ll give it to you, you’ve got a lot more going on in that head of yours than any of those cops you work with or politicians you work for. You’re still nothing compared to me.” He pushed you further back into your living room as he spoke. Maybe he was right all along and he knew you more than you knew yourself. He saw right through you. 

You clawed at his hand, scratching the leather in an attempt to loosen his grip. “I’m done. I’m not working with them anymore!”

The hand on your neck moved to gently stroke your hair. It would’ve been comforting if not for the leather catching and pulling the hair by accident. His other hand pulled you closer, against his chest. “I know, I know. That doesn’t matter anymore.” He cooed, voice still distorted by the mask. “Do you still have my gift?” 

There’s no way in hell you would admit that you kept it. The biggest reason wasn’t sentimental, you just had no idea where you could possibly throw it away. It’s been gathering dust in your closet ever since that night.

You couldn’t tell if he was smiling at your hesitancy and subsequent lack of an answer. “Don’t worry, why use it when you have the real thing right here? After all, I deserve a thank you.”

“For what?” You stumbled back farther until you hit your kitchen counter. It was then that you knew you were cooked. He pressed his body against yours, feeling the heat of his jacket seep through your shirt. 

“Your promotion.” His hands roamed around your body. He slightly chucked at the sight of your confused expression. “I take it they haven’t found her body yet.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. “Body?”

He stroked your hair. “Can’t say I don’t do anything for you. There’s a phone in my back pocket for you to call her doorman to make sure. Maybe she’ll still be kicking.” 

Shaking like a leaf, you reached into his back pocket. The device you felt was a burner, blocky, and lacking a touch screen. The number, saved as DOORMAN , was preset and ready for you to dial. You held the phone to your ear and listened to the dial tone. 

The man answered with little to no emotion. Probably nearing the end of his shift. “Hi. I need you to check on the woman that lives in C11.” You couldn’t tell if the fear in your voice was evident through the microphone. 

“Who’s this? Why are you calling?” He didn’t seem to care. None of the urgency that you desperately needed was there.

You shook your head. “No, no. That’ll waste time! I think she’s going to hurt herself and I need you to go up there right now.” The Riddler’s hands trailed lower on your body, caressing your thighs. 

The doorman shuffled from his seat and you could faintly hear him walking up the stairs to Annette’s apartment unit. He knocked, but the door was opened slightly already. The squeak of the hinges was caught by the phone’s mic. 

He screamed and you didn’t need to know what he was seeing for your heart to fall to your stomach. The first tear broke the seal and you couldn’t stop yourself from crying. Hands pressed against your panties, trying to increase the friction of the fabric against your clit. “Who are you? Why did you do this?” The questions were directed towards you.

“I, I didn’t…” None of the words could form in your mouth. They could barely appear in your brain in the first place. The phone was snatched from your hand and the call ended. He threw the phone on the floor. Your hands were now free to try and keep his at bay. “What do you want from me?”

“At first, I wanted to see how much you GCPD pigs knew about me. I’ll have to admit, you intrigued me.” He caught a grip on your wrists and pushed your hands against the counter. “You don’t even know what you do to me, baby. I just want you.” If it wasn’t him, it would’ve made you swoon. It could have even been sultry. Maybe if Edward had said it.

“No. No, I’m nothing special.” You weren’t sure what your tactic was anymore. All you needed him to do was leave you alone. Preferably forever, but just tonight would work as well.

Through the mask, his eyes narrowed. He shook his head. “Don’t think like that. You can help me fix this city. Fix me .”

[haladriel]

Galadriel stumbles from the boathouse, sorrow speared deep into her heart.

She has wounded him greatly, her friend. The hurt in Elrond's eyes as he bid her leave ran deep. But it pains her equally so that he should hold her closest truth in his gentlest of hands, and find her lacking. Like Nenya on her centre finger her heart weighs heavy, bearing the twin loss of a beloved friendship and of a— her—

Halbrand.

Simply Halbrand.

Lost to her forever, for he was never hers.

Only the great foe’s. His servant.

She hisses and wipes angrily at her tears as she passes the tree line. Why will this torment not leave her? Her chest is cavernous, cut and opened as it has been ever since Halbrand seemed to change before her very eyes. As his visage grew eternal. His laughing eyes cruel.

A sob forces itself from her.

Elrond has forsaken her, but really, she does not blame him. She asked for his help, but he has been wounded too many times to offer her his grace now. He acted in her interests, believing her unwell, and she has repaid him thus. She loathes that she has added to his sorrow.

The snap of heather and whisper of leaf that normally comfort her so grate like a sanding stone. She thumbs her ring in frantic brushes as she flees ever deeper into the forest. Returning to her escort in this state would cause concern. Talk.

Nothing has felt quite right among the elves since she returned from Eregion, troubled and regretful, and without the Man quickly and mercilessly rumoured to be her lover. For which other mortal Man would she ride day and night for the elven healers to save?

No, she will let herself flee.

This fresh devastation shall be kept private.

Hand on fallen bough she falls to the woodland floor, folding in two over her trembling knees. Her breaths rip themselves from her.

It is justifiable, Elrond’s reaction. Abhorrent, that she should feel something… intimate, for the dark lor— for—

She should be abhorred. She should abhor herself. And she does.

But it tears her very soul apart.

She lets out a throated cry into her cloak.

A whisper over her silver ring, warmth against chill—

A soft pressure as his lips meet Nenya— the power inside her shudders—

‘Galadriel.’

Her jagged breath catches on the feel of his lips around her name like lamb’s wool.

It is wrong, their bond. As wrong as the existence of orcs. Bound from the skeins of their fëa in a moment of madness, of deceit.

But it exists. Across distance, through the unseen world. And Elrond does not know, cannot see, what she saw in their time together. Will not ever see. If he were to, might he know a quart of her pain.

Read more

— For the Peace of All (no archive warnings)

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Caught In A Web ~ 20

CAUGHT IN A WEB MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 1,728ish

Summary: The rescue goes wrong.

Notes: Hope you guys enjoy it! I would love to hear from you!

“Rumlow.”

“Hello, Soldier,” Rumlow smirked. “Seems you have a new team member.” Rumlow squeezed your wrists together with one hand as the other place a knife against your throat. “She’s pretty.”

“Get your hands off of her!” Tony tried to sound strong, but was failing.

“Oh, seems I’ve hit a nerve. Guess I should have kidnapped you, sweetheart.” Rumlow’s lips brushed your ear as he spoke. You clenched your eyes shut, trying not to cry. Rumlow’s eyes caught sight of Bucky’s hand as the soldier tried to grab his gun. “Don’t think about it, Barnes.” He pressed the cold blade into your neck more. “Or she dies right here.” Bucky’s jaw clenched as he moved his hand away from his gun. “Good boy. Now, I’m going to escape and I’m taking the girl with me. Try to stop me and I’ll kill her.” 

Rumlow tugged you back, still holding a knife to your throat. You opened your eyes and met Tony’s. Both of you were terrified, but neither of you could do anything. All either of you could do was keep eye contact until you couldn’t anymore.

“STEVE!” Bucky roared over the comms. “It’s Rumlow. He has Y/N. Trying to escape. We need everyone.”

“Hulk,” Sam called, “find our entrance, head south. The Wakandans will meet you there to get Tony.”

“You’re crazy to think that I’ll leave without Y/N!” Tony exclaimed.

“You’re no help right now. We have the whole Team here. Let us take care of it.”

“Steve and the other are taking different routes,” Bucky informed. “Sam and I will follow the route and hopefully can corner Rumlow and free Y/N. We will get her, Tony. Hulk, go, now.”

The Hulk ran off while Sam and Bucky headed after you and Rumlow.

~~~

You needed to get out of the situation you were in before it was too late. You knew that the Team wouldn’t allow anything to happen to you if they could help it and that they were most likely forming a planning if they hadn’t already. That still didn’t take away the fact that this man, Rumlow, was holding a knife against your throat.

“You’re being such a good girl,” Rumlow purred in your ear as he continued to drag you away. “Maybe I let myself have some fun with you.” You stayed silent, almost stunned with the whole situation. “You’re a quiet one. I can get behind that.” 

Rumlow continued to guide you down the hallways to where there were some escape submarines. You suddenly had the need to scratch at your ear but before you knew it someone was talking to you.

“Hey, Y/N, it’s Scott,” he whispered. “I’m latched onto your ear. The Team has a plan, just go with it. I’m going to stay on your right while Hope is headed to your left.” You gave the tiniest of nods. “The Team is in position.”

You couldn’t help but hold your breath a little. Steve emerged from the shadows as did other Team members. Rumlow and yourself were suddenly surrounded. The knife against your throat pressed harder, drawing blood.

“What did I say, try to stop me and I’ll kill her,” Rumlow stated.

“Drop the knife, Rumlow,” Steve demanded. 

“Not a chance. Even if you kill me, you’ll still have one of your own dead.”

“Steve…” you couldn’t help but whimper. You were frightened, but grateful that Tony wasn’t here to witness it.

“Oh, she’s crying now,” Rumlow taunted as tears fell down your cheeks. “Poor, sweet babygirl. Let’s end your suffering.”

“Now!” Steve shouted.

The knife was quickly shoved away by an unseen force. T’Challa, Steve, and Bucky lunged for Rumlow, but not before you suddenly kicked back and pushed him away from you. You spun around and kicked him again, this time against the wall. Everyone stopped to watch what was happening, ready to jump in if needed. With a simple fling of your wrists, Rumlow’s hands were pinned with webs. Quickly after, you pinned his feet to the wall with webs.

“Look who’s finally grown a pair,” taunted Rumlow. A web flung across his neck, sticking to the wall. “You have a secret feisty side. Maybe I—“ You shut him up by launching webs over his mouth.

“Don’t ever try to hurt those I love again,” you threatened, a surge of confidence going through you. Turning away from the evil man, you were breathing heavily. Everyone was looking at you with a mix of pride and shock.

T’Challa was the first one to step up. “You did good, Y/N,” he praised.

“Thanks,” you responded with a nod. You winced, a pain at the front your neck. Your gloved hand came up and touched it. Pulling away, you saw the blood.

“We need to get you out of here,” Steve stated.

“Are you okay to walk?” Bucky asked, stepping up to help if needed.

“I think I’m— woah…” You had taken a step but the adrenaline was leaving your body, making you week. Bucky was quick to catch you and hoisted you up into his arms. “Thanks.”

“Barnes and I will take Y/N to Wakanda,” T’Challa stated.

“Sounds good,” Steve replied. “The rest of us will clear the place and handle Rumlow.” 

Bucky, with you in his arms, and T’Challa headed to the jets. The three of you stayed quiet until you remembered Tony.

“Where’s Tony?” You asked.

“Hulk and him are on their way to Wakanda,” answered T’Challa. “We will meet them there.”

“Okay… is any one else freezing?”

Bucky’s steps faltered. “What?”

“I’m freezing… and I’m getting sleepy.”

“Captain,” T’Challa called over the comms. “Check Rumlow’s knife for poison.” As you tried to stay awake, the men waited anxiously for Steve’s response. “We’re rushing her to Wakanda. Now.”

Bucky began running, but it didn’t phase you. You were struggling to stay awake. As soon as the three of you got to one of the jets, the jet started to pilot itself. T’Challa and Bucky quickly got you onto a cot. Everything became hazy. You knew that the men were talking to each other and to you, you just couldn’t understand anything.

“Y/N! Y/N!” Bucky was panicking. “Stay with us!” He was feeling helpless as T’Challa rushed around, grabbing items to use. “What can I do?”

“Just stay with her,” T’Challa responded. “I’ll do what I can.” He began to place Wakandan medical devices on you, hoping that anything would help.

“I should have known that knife was poisoned… I should have known…”

“It’s not your fault, Barnes.”

“I was trained better than this. I know better.”

“Barnes.” Bucky’s eyes snapped up to T’Challa’s. “The poison is not your fault. All we can do now is keep her calm and get her to Wakanda. Shuri will be ready to receive her as soon as we land.”

“She’s becoming a sister to me… I hate it.”

T’Challa couldn’t help but laugh. “A sister isn’t too bad.”

“I know. I had a sister. Her name was Rebecca… Y/N reminds me of her in a lot of ways.” You let out a whine and Bucky was quick to put a hand on your head, trying to soothe you. “Tony told us that Y/N doesn’t have any family. She is all on her own—well, was. None of us will let anything happen to her.”

“I don’t doubt it… I heard that Stark has changed.”

Bucky chuckled. “He’s still Stark, but yeah. Y/N’s done wonders for him and he for her. They’re perfect together. But everyone has enjoyed having her around and we’d really like to keep it that way.”

~~~

Tony was awake, sitting up in a bed when the Wakandans rushed toward the landing pad. He tried to see what was happening because the only thing he could think of was that it was one of his teammates. 

“What’s going on?” He asked one of the guards with him.

“King T’Challa requested medical help as soon as he landed,” the Dora responded.

“Who for?” Tony’s stats began to rise with worry. The Dora stayed silent. “Who for?” A cot was rolled of of the jet, with T’Challa and Bucky at its sides. Tony tried to stand up to see who was on it.

The Dora was quickly next to him, pinning him to the bed. “You must stay down.”

“I need to see who it is!” He tried to fight the warrior, but was failing and quickly draining his own energy. “I need to—“ The cot was rushed passed and Tony’s words caught in his mouth. It was you. Tony felt like his whole world was crashing down. “No. No! Y/N!” He tried to fight against the Dora more. “Y/N!”

~~~

Shuri took you into a private room, living T’Challa and Bucky standing outside. She promised to take care of you and Bucky knew that Shuri would try her best from personal experience. A familiar voice shouting had the men turning around. Not too far away, in a glass room, Tony was shouting and trying to fight off one of the Dora Milaje. The men rushed to the room.

“Stark!” Bucky called, quickly pinning him down.

“It’s Y/N!” Tony cried. “I need to be with her!”

“You need to calm down, Stark,” said T’Challa.

“I need to be with her!”

T’Challa quickly went to the IV Tony was connected to and added more medicine. Tony quickly grew weaker.

“Y/N… No… Not my Y/N…” he whimpered until he passed out.

Bucky let go of the man and looked up at the ceiling, trying not to cry. He then looked around. “Where’s Bruce?”

“The Hulk is in the fields,” the Dora Milaje replied. “He ran off as soon as Mr. Stark was in the Princess’ care. We are tracking him but he has not changed back to Dr. Banner.”

“Miss Romanoff will try as soon as she arrives,” T’Challa said. “You are free to go. We’ve got Stark from here.”

The Dora saluted to T’Challa before taking her leave. The beads on T’Challa’s wrist beeped and then a hologram message appeared.

“The rest of the Team is on their way,” said T’Challa. “The building was cleared and is destroyed. They have Rumlow in their custody.”

“Good,” Bucky nodded. “Hopefully Shuri will have some news by then.”

next chapter >

[doumadono]

emergency request !! hi, could i request a douma x (female) reader who is grieving for the loss of their best friend/loved one? maybe with a reader who acts like they're fine but douma catches them crying in secret and they break down and he comforts them? i've been kind of down recently cuz of someone who passed away. you don't have to do this if you don't want to, take your time !! thank you so so much, i love ur writing and ur amazing <33

Lotus in mourning - Douma x Reader

A/N: I'm truly sorry for your loss. It's important to give yourself the time and space to grieve, and remember that it's okay to feel sadness and seek comfort in the memories of your loved one

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST - PART 2

The moon hung high, casting a silvery glow across the temple where Douma resided.

The demon lounged in his throne, eyes half-lidded, appearing serene but ever observant. The air was cool, the night still, and the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of the wind.

During the evening rituals, Douma's gaze fell upon you, one of his favorite lotuses, as he used to call his most devoted people. Instantly, he sensed something was off. Your usually bright demeanor seemed dimmed, shadowed by an unseen burden. He watched you closely, his interest piqued by the subtle change in your aura.

After the rituals concluded, Douma decided to check upon you. He found you in a quiet corner of the temple, away from the watchful eyes of the other members of his cult.

You clutched a small, worn locket in your hand, the last memento of your lost friend. The memories of your lost friend flooded your mind, and before you could stop them, tears began to spill. You clamped a hand over your mouth to stifle the sobs, but the grief was too powerful, too overwhelming.

Douma's voice, smooth and chilling, broke through your solitude. "Oh my, my, what have we here?"

You jumped, hastily wiping your tears and forcing a smile. "Lord Douma, I didn't see you there."

His rainbow eyes glinted with an unsettling mix of curiosity and amusement. "You didn't think you could hide from me, did you, little lotus?" He stepped closer, his presence both comforting and intimidating. "Tell me, why are you crying, my child?"

You shook your head, trying to muster strength. "It's nothing, really. I'm fine."

Douma tilted his head, his gaze piercing through your facade. "Oh... You are such fragile creature, aren’t you? You lose someone and it shatters you."

His words were blunt.

You couldn't hold back any longer. "I… I indeed lost someone, my lord. Someone very important to me. We grew up together. They were my anchor, my confidant." Your voice broke, and you clutched the locket tighter, as if it could bring them back.

He nodded, as if understanding. "Grief is such a fascinating emotion. It makes you feel alive, even in its agony." He extended a hand, his touch surprisingly gentle as he rubbed lazy circles over your shoulder. "Come, let me see those tears of yours."

You hesitated, but his eyes held a compelling force. You let him guide you up, and as you broke down, he held you through the shattering waves of sobs.

His embrace was cold, yet there was a twisted warmth to it. "Cry as much as you need to, little lotus," he whispered. "Your pain is pure, and all you need to do is embrace it." Douma's long fingers traced the path of your tears, and you shivered.

"Why do you care?" you asked, your voice trembling. "Why do you care about someone as mere as I am?"

"Because, my dear," he replied, his tone almost tender, "I enjoy watching helping others. Your suffering, your sorrow – it’s all so exquisitely real. And in comforting you, I get to savor every bit of it while making you feel a little calmer."

There was something inherently wrong about his comfort, but in your vulnerable state, it was the solace you needed.

Douma continued to hold you, his words a twisted balm. "Your friend is gone, yes, but their memory lives on in your pain. Embrace it. Let it fuel you."

You nodded, finding an odd sense of peace in his words. "Thank you, Lord Douma," you whispered. "But how did you know who I lost?"

He smiled, a cold, predatory smile that sent a chill down your spine. "Remember, little lotus, grief is a part of life. And as long as you serve me, I will be here to witness every tear, every sorrow, to console you. You will never again be alone in your pain."

In that moment, wrapped in Douma's unsettling yet oddly comforting embrace, you let yourself grieve, unaware of the true nature behind his soothing presence. And for a twisted, fleeting moment, you felt understood.

[serickswrites]

Saint Bernard

Prompt from the lovely @watermelons-whump-game

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, bruises, broken bones, loss of faith, lamentation, unseen caretaker

Whumpee hunched over against the wall Whumper had chained them to. Their hands hung limply in the cuffs that were bolted to the wall. They had no energy to react. No energy to do anything but sit there. Their body ached. They were certain Whumper had broken their nose and a few ribs. Their face was bruised and swollen.

And they were completely alone.

"Why have you forsaken me?" Whumpee whispered to the empty room. They had prayed and prayed that someone would save them. But no one came.

"I have been a faithful servant. I have done everything you have asked. And yet you have abandoned me? Why? What did I do? How could you do this to me?" They couldn't fight back the tears that had been filling their eyes.

Whumper had sneered at Whumpe's prayers. Had scoffed at the mark of their faith. Had laughed when Whumpee begged for God to hear them.

"They can't hear you here. There is no God here, Whumpee. Only me. And the evil of the world."

Whumpee had tried to rebuke Whumper. Had tried to stay strong in their faith. Had tried to believe that God would protect them. That they would be worthy of rescue.

But no one came.

"Howl all you want, Whumpee, but no one is coming for you. You're mine until I decide to get rid of you. Like all the others."

And so Whumpee sat alone in the dark, crying to an unseen God. Begging for freedom. "Why have you left me? What did I do?" Whumpee sniffed. "I had always believed that you would protect the righteous. That you would help the meek. That you would save those that needed saving. But I see now that you don't care. And that all of this was a waste.

"I'm going to die here," Whumpee sobbed, "because I believed. I believed and you failed me. Like you have failed everyone."

Whumpee sobbed and sobbed until exhaustion sucked them under. Caretaker watched from the doorway. There was nothing they could do. They had been given strict orders not to interfere unless Whumpee was at risk of imminently dying.

They hated this part of being a guardian. They wished that angels could interfere more with humanity. They wished Whumpee didn't have to suffer.

But they couldn't defy their orders. And so they watched as Whumpee struggled to believe. Watched as Whumper beat Whumpee mercilessly. And they watched as Whumpee slipped into unconsciousness.

Maybe they could interfere soon.

Tags: @mousepaw @jumpywhumpywriter @knightinbatteredarmor @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @anightmarishwhump

@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @celestialsoyeon @st0rmm @ay5ksal

[sincerely-anascot]

He should have never let you go.

That day when he walked you down the altar—was it any different to sending you off to your demise?

Erwin received a missive from the Military Police in the early morning. Levi arrived at Mitras in record speed, his mare at the verge of collapse when he handed the reigns to the stable hand.

The mansion was huge, bigger than the former Survey Corps Headquarters. And while he thought such a gaudy thing never suited you he was at least comforted by the fact that you had all your needs met and more. Your marriage may have been a sham to support the regiment yet he swore that a man that openly proclaimed so much admiration for you would cherish you.

“You must be Captain Levi.” A man with a white cloth over his nose and mouth met him at the top of the stairs leading to the second story of the mansion.

Levi followed through the gilded corridor, the sound of footsteps barely eclipsing the sound of his rapidly beating heart.

The room was as lavish as the rest of the building; filled with furnitures and trinkets he would never be able to afford. At the center of it all was an expansive four-poster bed and on it was a memory that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Varying colors of bruises riddled your skin. Your once bright and eager eyes that seemed to wander to unseen lands stared up at him devoid of life. Cheeks sunken and limbs so thin, his mother may as well be lying before him again.

“There are signs of abuse that can be dated to weeks back. Starvation and dehydration played their parts too but ultimately, her death was due to blood loss from the multiple stabs wounds she sustained.” The medical examiner sounded too clinical for Levi’s liking.

It felt like torture almost—to hear about how much you suffered. So, he held the urge to punch the man in the nose because Levi thought he deserved the punishment.

“We tried to quickly operate on her upon her request but we couldn’t save the child either.”

A ringing began to grow in Levi’s ears. Bile started to gather up his throat. He could barely register the words ‘escape’, ‘fight’, and ‘self-defense’ coming from the medical examiner’s mouth but it was enough to form a gruesome story that had the captain spilling his guts at the foot of the bed.

The thought of you starting the family you always wanted and he could never give you was a balm that soothed his loneliness and bitter days.

He didn’t hear the doors closing as he was left alone to drown in his retch and vicious sobs.

Hours later, a maid silently slipped a tray carrying a jug of water, a glass, and a stringed, pile of letters beside where he knelt holding your hand at the side of the bed.

When he has exhausted himself from crying, Levi helped himself to the letters—all of them were addressed to him.

He opened the one dated on the day of your wedding. Not even half-way through he drops it on the floor and shakily stands up ignoring the numbness in his knees.

For the first time since he came into the room, he spots the bundle by your side.

He strides to the opposite side of the bed, legs heavy as if he was weaving through muck. Hand seasoned with battle trembling when he reached over to pull the fabric open.

The almost translucent skin doesn’t take away from the softness of the babe. If his fingers didn’t feel the coldness of the infant’s cheeks, he would’ve mistaken it to be peacefully asleep.

Fresh tears stained the swaddle as he lifted the unmoving bundle to his chest.

Levi whispered with deep regret and longing,

“Hello, son. Daddy’s here.”

[thebadgerclan]

Appetizer

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova x reader

Requested by Anonymous

Summary: He needs to taste you...

Smut!

Aleksander was tense at your side.  His knuckles were white as he gripped his fork, and his hand shook as he brought his wine glass to his lips.  “Darling?” you asked coyly, resting a hand on his bicep.  “Are you alright?”  Your husband slowly inhaled, his gaze remaining fixed on the wall before him.  You were attending a state dinner for the Kerch, which meant the Grisha were effectively on display.

For you, this meant wearing your black silk kefta and entering proudly on your husband’s arm, the full force and power of the Morozovas and the Grisha as a whole on display.  You had chosen to wear your hair down, your lips painted a scarlet red, and it was driving Aleksander crazy.  It hadn’t helped that you’d pinned him against a wall and kissed him senseless just before you had to leave for the dinner, which left Aleksander achingly hard and needing you.

“I think you know the answer to that, my love,” he replied, taking your hand and squeezing it.  You looked at him with innocent eyes, and your husband’s cock throbbed with need.  He leaned towards you, looking to everyone else like he was a man besotted with his wife, whispering sweet nothings in her ear.  Which wasn’t entirely false, but his words were anything but innocent.

“If we weren’t in public right now, I’d have my head between your legs.”  You nearly choked on your wine, and Aleksander let a hand rest on your thigh, squeezing softly.  “I can barely smell my dinner, sweetling, all I can smell is your dripping cunt.”  You covered a moan with a cough, and your husband smirked.  “Sasha,” you whispered, and he pressed a deceptively gentle kiss to your cheek.

“Can you keep quiet, my love?  Be a good girl for me?”  Eagerly, you nodded, and Aleksander stood, slipping from the room.  For a moment, you were confused, until you felt something warm brush against your leg.  Your husband had bent the shadows around him, allowing him to crawl beneath the table unseen.  He slid your kefta the dress up, his palms warm against your skin, slowly tugging your undergarments down.

Then, his lips, soft and gentle against your thighs, creeping upwards towards your wet pussy.  Your breathing became ragged as your husband’s kisses moved upwards.  One of his hands splayed across your lower abdomen, the other rested on your hip.  Aleksander breathed deeply, the scent of your arousal headier than any liquor, and he dipped his head, licking at your cunt.

You had your napkin crumpled in your fist, squeezing it so hard it was a wonder your fingers didn’t break.  Aleksander lapped at your slit, his tongue laving and flicking at your clit, all of which would normally have you moaning and crying his name.  But here, in a crowded ballroom, the Kerch ambassador and the King and Queen of Ravka mere feet away, you were forced to dig your nails into your palm and bite your lip to keep from moaning.

Aleksander, for one, was in heaven.  There were very few things he enjoyed more than eating you out; very few places he enjoyed being more than with his face between your thighs.  It barely mattered that it was sweltering beneath the table, it barely mattered that the hardwood floor was biting into his knees.  Your husband was drunk on the taste of your cunt, and he pressed his tongue deeper into you, his nose bumping against your sensitive clit.

When he drew your clit into his mouth and sucked, you couldn’t hold back a moan.  You were barely able to cover it with a cough, and the Kerch ambassador turned to you, concern on his face.  “My lady,” he said in heavily accented Ravkan.  “Are you well?  You look rather flushed.”  You coughed once more, lifting your water glass to your lips.  “Fine, fine,” you replied, your voice breathy.  “Just a bit warm in here, is all.”

Beneath the table, Aleksander grinned wickedly, once more licking a stripe across your pussy, the hand on your belly pressing down slightly.  You fought the urge to buck your hips,  your toes curling in your boots, teeth digging into your lip.  Your husband had shifted his focus once again to your clit, flicking the tip of his tongue over it and suckling gently on it, which had you hurtling towards an orgasm.

Aleksander sensed it, as he always did, and he felt you reach down for him.  He took your hand and squeezed it, and when he sucked a bit harder on your clit, you came, letting out a strained sigh that ended with a slight moan.  Your husband pressed a few soft kisses to your thighs before righting your undergarments and skirt and extricating himself from beneath the table.

“My love,” he said, returning to your side, not at all looking like he’d spent the past 10 minutes under a table licking your cunt.  “Are you feeling alright?  You don’t look too well.”  Aleksander made a show of feeling your forehead and shaking his head.  “Sweetling, you’re burning up.  Come, let’s get you to bed.”  Your husband made his apologies to the Kerch ambassador and to the King and Queen before escorting you from the ballroom.

The moment you were in the hall, you had Aleksander pressed against the wall, kissing him hungrily.  “Sasha,” you breathed, tugging at his hair.  “If you don’t take me to bed right now, I swear to the Saints, I’ll-”  You were cut off by your husband lifting you into his arms and kissing you.  “Don’t worry, my sweet,” he cooed, already carrying you down the hall.  “That was just an appetizer.”

[nomelwelloy]

Legolas deabble / imagine | Legolas x reader

☆彡

On difficult days that get the better of you, you return home and simply break down, unable to hold back the frustration thats been building since earlier this morning. It rolls down your cheeks in hot tears that never seem to end. A spell of ranting and a stuffy nose later, you’re cradled tightly in Legolas’s arms, held close to his body as he kisses the top of your head, hands drawing soothing circles into your sides.

The bed is large but you’re huddled up in the middle of it with him, duvet pooling around you like water. You’re drifting through the thoughts and emotions you’ve held at bay the entire day, seeing nothing past your anger and dejection, but Legolas anchors you to him, reminds you he’s there with his soothing gestures.

The crying runs it’s course until you’re spent, and you sink into him, unable to hold yourself up from exhaustion. You let him lay you down, bringing you to rest on his chest. You hear his steady heartbeat, feel the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest in quiet breaths, feel his firm body beneath your anxious touch as you clutch his tunic, sniffling the remnants of your unhappiness away.

Something about his calm demeanour- like an unseen force that calls the choppy waves at sea to rest, returning it to lull gently against the shore once more- allays you effortlessly.

You settle down, pressed into his side while he whispers in Sindarin, soothing phrases into your hair. He tells you you’ve done your best, to empty your heart of your burdens and let them weigh you down no further. That you are now in his arms- think of nothing but him now, as you relent to the grips of sleep, and wake with him where you shall face tomorrow together, him by your side.

You could almost cry again, but your exhuastion yanks you under quicker than you can help it. The last things you hear is Legolas’s dulcet voice, crooning melodies of a familiar lullaby, and with a kiss to your forehead you are under, slipping into the darkness, the claws of the day loosening on you, dissolving into yesterday.

☆彡

a/n: hope this lifts your spirits <3 however your day went!