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milf-murdock · 2 months

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Feels Like Home

Ghost x Soap x Reader // Established relationship

Summary: Your boys come home to you.

Warnings: none, just the fluffiest of fluff

“S’late,” Johnny murmured in the dark as he nudged off his boots beside the door. Simon offered up a small hum in agreement as he slid the locks into place, ensuring each and every one clicked firmly. “Try not to wake her this time, Johnny,” he warned as they made their way through the shared flat and towards the bedroom. “No promises,” Johnny whispered. “Just missed her so fucking much.” Simon rolled his eyes affectionately, but there was no denying that he felt the same way. The deep-seated ache they both felt when they were apart from you, it was damn near debilitating.

The bedroom door let out a quiet squeak as they carefully opened it, and Simon made a mental note to grease it in the morning.

The two men paused in the doorway, their breath momentarily taken away by the sight of your sleeping form. The soft glow of the lamp you’d accidentally left on washed your body in a warm hue. You were in one of Simon’s oversized sweatshirts, the well-worn material draping your frame as you cuddled close to Johnny’s pillow. The soft rise and fall of your chest let them know that you were still peacefully asleep, and for a brief panicked moment, Simon felt his chest constrict as he thought about how easily it would be for someone else, someone with more sinister intent, to sneak in here with you completely unaware. He pushed the thought out of his mind, reminding himself of all the security measures he and Johnny strategically put into place to assure your safety at all times.

The moment of quiet of short lived as Johnny all but bounded to the bed, unable to curb his enthusiasm for a moment longer. To be fair, he did try his hardest to be quiet and smooth, but he couldn’t stand the look of you curled around his pillow when you clearly needed to be resting against his own body. He lifted the covers back and slid into the warm sheets, carefully untangling you from the pillow and coaxing your head onto his chest, the soft patch of curls gracing his burly form have you instinctively curling inwards, burying your face in the soft warmth.

You let out a contented sigh and for the first time in nearly four weeks, Johnny feels like he can finally breathe, like he is finally whole once more. As he wrapped his strong arms around you, realization slowly pulls you from your slumber as you wiggle against his hard body, your body torn between falling back into sleep and knowing that something has changed.

Simon stepped closer to the bed, looking at you and Johnny with pure unadulterated affection. “Hey love,” his deep voice was soft in the darkness, not wanting to startle you. “We’re home.” A single finger traced the outline of your face, trailing from your temple to your chin, as your eyelashes fluttered open.

“You’re home?” Your voice cracked on the last word, the last dregs of sleep clearing from you as you took in the sight before you.

Johnny pressed a kiss to your temple, pulling you even closer. “Aye lass,” he murmured against your skin, pressing kiss after kiss. “We’re home. Missed ya.”

As much as Simon enjoyed watching the sweet moment between you and Johnny, his own exhaustion was slowly overtaking him. He does his best to juggle taking care of you and Johnny, especially looking after Johnny when they’re on missions together—not just as his lieutenant, but as his partner.

Simon slid into the bed from the other side, his large frame coming up behind you and his arm hooking under Johnny’s neck, enabling him to pull you both close to him, your pliant body wedged between the two men. Simon took a deep breath, breathing in the subtle mix of your shampoo and a faint whiff of musk that was distinctly Johnny. Nothing compared to the feeling of being home with his loves, both of you safe in his arms.

The three of you drifted off to sleep just like that, limbs thoroughly entangled, steady breathing soothing every last one of you.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley imagine #soap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #ghoap x reader #soap x ghost x reader #simon riley x john mactavish x reader #john mactavish x you #johnny mactavish x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish

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undead-supernova · 2 months

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It's My Body and It Hates You / Masterlist

plot: memories are resurfacing. you thought that you were getting better. he wasn't haunting you now that you are with eddie. but, fuck, healing is just not that linear.

pairing: boyfriend!Eddie x afab!reader

important notes: this is about healing from previous sexual assault. this is as self-serving as it gets!!! and it can be HIGHLY TRIGGERING for other victims! but i thought maybe if someone else has gone through this before too, they could find comfort in it.

hate that I have to add this but please be respectful of my experiences. I have cowered away from posting this for months, but I think I should be allowed the right to shine a light on these issues and what intimacy looks like post-trauma.

wc: 3.4k

song reference: Everybody Loves You by Charlotte Lawrence (which has helped with my healing so so much over the last few years)

It starts the moment you wake up.

The remembering.

It’s his cerulean eyes you think about first, nearly glossed over with the glare of the morning light. The way it used to, at least. It made everything inside you soften; made everything slow down.

Back in the early days. Back when it didn’t fill you with melancholy. Back when you thought being in love meant to be in constant fear.

Way before you ever met someone like Eddie. Way before you knew that good men existed.

You look over to find Eddie gone already, having promised to help set up for a parade at the local middle school Nancy works at. He’s been teaching some of her students how to play guitar, even going so far as to buy them some cables and help update the sheet music they stashed in a closet.

Eddie’s good like that.

Generous. Observant. Selfless.

And it’s awful, but you wish he’d stayed home. Because something in you is starting to fall apart and it’s not pretty. It’s not palatable like they show on TV.

No, it’s something much more visceral.

It’s been almost four years since it started, since you fell into a not-so-serious relationship with some guy that turned into something sinister.

All of the running around and the secrets kept from your friend group that (not so surprisingly) doesn’t exist anymore. The ones who were so sure you were just obsessed with him. The ones who still talked to him after.

You were supposed to only have sex. That was it.

But, of course, what’s a little sex without his longing glances and soft embrace and sleeping over and early morning kisses? Sweet nothings, cuddles and hand holding?

But, no. He swore it to be friendship, just something casual. Even when he told you three separate times throughout your time together that he wanted something more. But it was fleeting, backtracking a day or two later to say he just wasn’t ready for a relationship. Ghosted you for two weeks, maybe a month at the most. Come back with a few sexts and suddenly you were fucking again.

No strings, he’d say. We can’t be in a relationship.

So you stayed that way. Kept everything inside the best you could. Stood in the mirror with your lips sewn shut, tears trickling down your cheeks as if every teardrop was another regret. Smiled as much as you could, waiting for him to look away before you allowed yourself to let it falter.

And then there was the sex. That’s all anyone cared about in relationships, right? Not the person, just the body. Just the sexual object, a mere paperweight for the other to use.

The sex hurt from the beginning, his fingers never fitting right. His mouth always just a little bit too rough. But, fuck, it just always seemed to hurt. So you never truly finished, always faking it and finishing in the shower afterwards.

But you loved him. You loved the way he held you afterwards, the way his back shone in the morning light whenever he slept over. The fun little bickering back and forth whenever he was coming down from the dopamine rush. Ordering in and laughing at each other when stealing fries became a full-on wrestling match.

And at some point.

Well.

You stopped receiving.

He’d try to arouse you, but ultimately it was always to please him. He was always too tired afterwards anyways. And though you wanted to stop, you just…did it anyways. You would sit there, reminding yourself that it would stop once you got him off.

When it ends, it’ll be okay. He’ll stay. He’ll finally tell you he loves you. Just hold on. Just keep doing that and he’ll finish and then you’ll be fine. Just a few more minutes. Just do this. Just do that.

Just, just, just…

It’s fine.

Until it didn’t feel fine. Until he berated you one day, saying that the two of you couldn’t have sex every day and that your “friendship” was getting out of hand. That you wanted too much from him even though he was the one who initiated.

Because, like with your emotions, you’d learned that if you attempted to initiate sex, the answer was no.

And so he yelled. And yelled. And yelled. Until you were sitting on the couch watching one of his lame TV shows and his hand ghosted over to your thigh. Stroked it. Gave you that look. Leaned in. Kissed you. Wrapped his fingers around your jaw and brought you back in unexpectedly.

This happened more times than you like to admit.

When he finally decided to commit, it lasted a month.

And, god, was it was a shitty month.

He introduced you to his mother who really didn’t care enough to ask you any questions about yourself and even made it a point to say that you and her son were very different—almost too different. When you told your friends, they weren’t happy for you. They were confused, even. He never talked about you, so how were you now suddenly dating?

He never wanted to go on dates, never gave you anything special that he hadn’t stolen. Only called you beautiful between the sheets and told you he loved you in whispers. Even told you that telling him you miss him was manipulation, guilt tripping him into feeling bad for being gone.

So you stopped saying it. Stopped thinking about it. Started telling yourself to be grateful that he was still there.

When he dumped you that final time, on April 1st of all days, you’d laughed hysterically. It was the moment you realized that this was all he’d ever be. All he’d ever do. You saw all the patterns and the seduction and the manipulation and the fucking fucking and knew that this was a vicious cycle that would never end unless you were the one to cut the cord.

And, well, you’d already snapped.

You thought that everything had been consensual. That you’d wanted it. Even though you didn’t, not one bit. You just wanted him to stay.

But it couldn’t have been rape. No, not at all.

But, like, you didn’t want it and you most definitely felt taken advantage of every single time and he definitely touched you whenever he wanted you to fuck him and get your arousal to distract you and the word coercion definitely sat in your mouth all funny and…

It had to be consensual.

Right?

For two years, you thought you’d never go near romance again.

When you met Eddie, a friend of a friend, you were so confused by how gentle he was. Always having a smile for you, always telling your friend that he enjoyed your presence. He gave you little presents, like stickers and rocks from conventions and comic book stores. A few amethysts after you told him they were your favorite. Learned your coffee order and your favorite foods.

If you were hanging out, you were playing video games or board games with his friends or laughing or giggling or swapping embarrassing secrets or, or or...

His friends would leak in every now and then, filling up cups and hosting potlucks galore. Steve, Robin, and Nancy made sure to affirm your solidified place in their lives while Gareth, Grant, and Jeff made sure you were a key member in campaigns.

And Eddie was always there at the end of those nights, washing your dishes and collecting trash just so you could catch some sleep.

It was such a stark contrast from the friend group you’d been in before.

And, fuck, you’d never felt so free.

A few months into your friendship, Eddie made it clear that he had feelings for you. Asked if you were feeling the same way and that he’d fuck off if you told him to. When you laughed and said you kind of liked him back, he asked you out on a proper date, something you hadn’t had before.

He did that whole thing with the flowers and the tie and the car door and the restaurant door and the chair and the laughter and the nice champagne and the walking you up to your apartment.

His arms were behind his back, keeping a safe distance. Under the dim flickering light of the hallway, his dark irises met yours. You searched them for any sign of danger.

But they were gentle. Kind.

Warm.

And you stood there, waiting for him to kiss you or try to come in.

But he didn’t.

He’d said, “Could we do this again?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

He turned to walk back down the stairs. But you touched his shoulder.

“Wait, you’re not going to try to come in?”

Eddie merely smiled at you, tugging at the stray hairs leaving his bun. “Oh, uh. That’s not how I want to do things.”

“Really?”

He shook his head, still smiling. “Really. Sorry to disappoint—”

“No!” you exclaimed, maybe a little too loud. “No, I just. Um, no one’s ever— Anyways, it’s not important. I’m sorry. I’d love to go on a second date.”

You sat in bed that night, trying to ward away the nightmares creeping up. Feeling locked in place, feeling scared. Felt it in your arms. Your spine. Your cracked chest.

Feeling terrified that Eddie was just lying.

Feeling doubtful that this would ever be more than some hookup.

And yet, it became anything but that.

On your sixth date, you finally told him about your ex, trying to explain why you were the way you were. Why you flinched at any casual touch and why the idea of being intimate was scary for you. Why you’d been so hesitant with Eddie in the first place.

You rambled on and on, from the way you couldn’t even masturbate half of the time to avoiding porn because you flashed back to those moments. The ones where everything always had to hurt. The ones where you had to make yourself into a sex doll just to be seen. Just to have worth that ultimately meant nothing.

It was like your body was stuck, like it was empty and full of cobwebs. It was just the strangest sensation, like your body knew something you didn’t.

“It’s silly, I know,” you’d said. “I don’t know why it’s all still so scary for me. It’s not even a big deal.”

Eddie whispered your name then, hesitantly reaching his fingers out to skim yours. “And you have no idea why you feel this way?” he asked, an eyebrow lifting.

Yours furrowed. Softly, you asked, “What are you trying to say?”

“I think…” Eddie took a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily before gazing at you again. “Um, I think he raped you.”

He watched your eyes widen then.

And as the waves of grief washed through you that night, Eddie held onto you. His strong arms anchored you to the life you had now, the one you were living in spite of this horror.

But it didn’t mean any of this made sense. What had you done to deserve this? Where was your fault?

But, fuck, how could you have even known?

And why would that be your fault anyways?

“You don’t need to see this,” you’d sobbed, shaking your head. “I-I—”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence, heaving another sob before his arms tightened around you.

“You’re not alone,” he whispered, kissing your temple. “I’m here, okay?”

“I’m here.”

You cried the first time he made you cum.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he’d cooed. “It’s okay. You’re safe with me, I promise. Let it out.”

You nodded then, taking your tired arms and wrapping them around his neck. Pulled him closer, closer than you’d been with anyone. Hugged him tight. Kept him inside you. Tried to remind yourself that he wasn’t going to walk away. He was here with you. He was present.

Not too long after that, you’d been under him again, breathlessly thanking him.

Eddie had stilled inside you, leaning back to look into your glassy eyes.

“What for?” he’d asked.

“For being so sweet to me,” you responded, sniffling. “For letting me feel good.”

“Sweetheart, I—” Eddie got choked up on the words, getting teary-eyed himself. “You never have to thank me for making sure you feel good, alright?” You nodded. “I want you to feel good. Always.”

Nodding again, you asked, “Would you…keep going? Please?”

He smiled then, wiping the sides of his eyes. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Anything you want.”

“Thank you,” you’d said, taking his hand in yours. “Thank you.”

After that, Eddie approached things a bit differently.

Even when he was fucking the shit out of you, which you didn’t even know could actually feel good, he was so gentle. Kissed your face after you came two, three times before praising you.

“You did so good, baby. So, so good.”

“So proud of you.”

“You’re so beautiful. I bet you knew that already, though. Absolutely perfect.”

It started to stitch back together something inside you that you didn’t know could be mended.

Somehow, within the last six months, you stopped being able to have sex.

It came out of nowhere—all the flashbacks and panic attacks. The moments of arousal that seem to wash away seconds after it’s felt. Hell, even the thought of masturbation has started to make you sad again.

Your body recoils from that kind of intimacy now, even Eddie’s touch being clouded with the memory of Him. And you’re working on it. You are. Sometimes you have therapy twice a week just to talk about it and undo whatever it is that’s starting to worm its way into your every day life.

Despite it all, you still try doing little things with him so that you can enjoy yourselves, like getting off while lying next to each other. It always ends in giddy laughter and gentle cuddling. Soft kisses and the promise for another round later.

But recently you can’t help but feel like you’re something that weighs him down, keeps him from experiencing true pleasure. That you’re just a tattered and torn tapestry that holds no image anymore.

By the time Eddie gets home that night, you’re on your third glass of wine, silently crying in your shared living room. It’s not the best sight, your white t-shirt gone after you’d spilled the drink while trying to sit down. You’re naked, chest stained with the scarlet liquid from shaky fingers.

Eddie immediately throws the keys on the counter and rushes over to you.

“Hey, what happened? What’s going on?” He gently runs his fingers through your hair. “What’s going on, sweetheart?”

You shake your head. “He’s back. In my head. I can’t get him out, Eddie. I can’t get him out.”

“Hey, come here. It’s going to be—”

He tries to wrap his arms around you, but it’s seconds before you’re pushing him away from you. You can’t feel Eddie tonight. No. You only feel Him. That monster, that unforgivable personification of hell.

“Stop! Stop!” you plead. “There’s so much pain. Just so much. I can’t keep doing this. It’s so painful.”

There’s nothing but those cobwebs inside you with little insects scurrying about. Maggots squirming in and out of your flesh. The hands, His hands that disemboweled you from the start, are still clawing at your ribcage. After all, He left you for dead, disgusting and discarded. Poisoned. Tained.

You’re suffering.

And you don’t suffer beautifully. You’re not draped in silk sheets and clutching your pearls as your trauma washes over you in delicate, smudged mascara tears. No, your naked body shivers with the cold air and sticky spilled wine and your nails are crooked from the biting and the picking. Your eyes are sore and there’s something worse clawing at your throat.

“Baby, hey…” Eddie trails, lightly stroking your arm. “It’s okay. Just breathe for me, okay?”

“No, I’m so fucking done!” you scream, slamming your glass on the coffee table, watching as it cracks. “I can’t fucking believe this stupid thing happened to me and now I can’t do shit during sex and I’m just broken. I’m just fucking broken. And it’s all his fault!”

You choke on a sob, collapsing back onto the carpet. “It’s all his fault,” you whisper, overcome with sorrow.

“Hey, hey. Come here,” Eddie whispers, tentatively pulling you back into his arms.

“I want this to be over with.” Your voice comes out exasperated. Exhausted. Like even the thought of having to keep going through this is about to do you in. “I just want it to be over.”

“I know.”

“It’s so gross. It’s so gross! I feel so fucking tainted and like I’m full of toxic waste. Like goo, you know? Just fucking oozing with the stuff.”

Eddie simply nods, holding you tighter to his chest. “Did you, like, get triggered? Last time, you said it was that detergent at the store.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s like I woke up being assaulted or something. It’s absolute bullshit. I thought I was done with this. I thought it was over. I thought I’d been to therapy enough that it was letting me get back to having sex and being normal.”

“Ah, come on, sweetheart,” he cooed. “There’s no such thing as being normal, especially after something like that. You know that.” You let out a huff, one of your stubborn ones that leaves a small smile on Eddie’s lips. “Besides, you’re the only one punishing yourself for not being able to have sex right now.”

Sniffling, you look up to meet his eyes. “You’re not mad at me?”

His eyebrows furrow, shaking his head as he continues to smile at you. “Why would I be mad at you, hm? I don’t want to have sex if you’re not feeling it.”

“Oh,” you say simply. “Okay. Yeah.”

Arms tightening, he states, “That’s how it should always be.”

You nod. “Yeah, you’re right.”

“And we have our things we do,” he adds, fiddling with your fingers. “You know, getting off at the same time.”

“You don’t think it’s weird?” you ask.

“Not to get, like, vulgar right now, but I think it’s hot.” That gets a laugh out of you. “I’m really into it ‘cause you’re super into it.”

“I like it,” you agree, the haze starting to dissipate from your vision. “It makes me feel safe and I just…it’s nice.”

“Then we can keep doing that until you’re ready to do anything else, alright?”

You nod, still trying to clear the fog.

“I know what I signed up for, sweetheart,” he says, giving you a quick squeeze. “I knew it wasn’t going to be easy for you, no matter how much I wish it was.”

“I’m gonna get through this,” you say with a nod. “I know I can do this. I just need some time to figure out how to change what’s happening inside me.”

“See? That’s my girl,” he whispers, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “My strong, beautiful, brave girl.”

“How were the kids?”

It’s dark in your bed, the covers seemingly comfier than they’ve ever been. Eddie has you curled into his arms, hiding you away from the assailants and the monsters of the world. There’s no Him here. For now, you’re resting in the arms of solace.

“Absolutely terrible,” he says, causing you to chuckle. “But I think they had fun. Nance is good at the teaching thing, bossing the kids around, you know?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Would you keep talking to me?” you ask. “I want to hear more about your day.”

Eddie trails on, stroking your hair. He tells you about the tiny parade the classes had and how the mini float they made stopped moving halfway through. Steve came just in time to see it break down and they worked together to get it back up and running again.

He says you would’ve had fun.

Says it’s okay that you weren’t okay enough to come.

Says it’s okay that you’re struggling with this.

“You’re doing your best,” he whispers as your eyes start to get too difficult to open. “And I love you so much. I’m right here with you.”

Love doesn’t come easily after sexual assault. When there’s no one left to trust and the idea of sex is appealing but the follow through fills you with intense anxiety, the thought of a relationship is…tough. It’s easy until it’s hard and it’s hard until it’s easy. It’s like every day comes with something new, whether it be good or bad.

Eddie’s the exception that you never saw coming. And you’re so fucking glad you were able to see the day where you got to meet him. Fall in love with him. Stay with him.

And he tells you one last truth before you fall asleep.

“You aren’t broken, even if you feel like it. Just a little bent, baby. That’s all.”

shout out to @strangergraphics for her dividers...and a big thanks to her for encouraging me to share this when I was giving up.

if you are going through anything like this, know that you're not alone. it's a scary experience and people don't really talk about the way the body is just as affected by trauma as the brain is. healing is not linear and you will get through this.

stay strong.

#Eddie munson x reader #eddie munson/reader #Eddie munson x you #Eddie munson/you #boyfriend!eddie munson #Eddie x you #Eddie x reader #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson hurt/comfort

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heckcareoxytwit · 1 year

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The Hellfire Gala variant covers for July 2023 Marvel solicits

Black Cat (Felicia Hardy) and Mary Jane on Amazing Spider-Man #29 variant cover

Hellcat (Patsy Walker) on Amazing Spider-Man #30

Vision on Avengers #3

Black Panther (T'Challa) on Black Panther #2

Carol Danvers on Captain Marvel: Dark Tempest #1

Kingpin (Wilson Fisk) on Daredevil #13

Scarlet Witch (Wanda Maximoff) on Doctor Strange #5

Deadpool (Wade Wilson) is oddly dressed as Fantomex on the variant cover of Deadpool #9

Iceman (Bobby Drake) on Fantastic Four #9

Nova (Richard Rider) on Guardians of the Galaxy #4

Ghost Rider (Johnny Blaze) on Ghost Rider #16

Hallow's Eve (Janine Godbe) on Hallow's Eve #5

The Five - Proteus (Kevin MacTaggert), Goldballs/Egg (Fabio Medina), Hope Summers, Tempus (Eva Bell) and Elixir (Josh Foley) on Immortal X-Men #13

Emma Frost on Invincible Iron Man #8

Miles Morales on Miles Morales: Spider-Man #8

Moon Knight (Marc Spector) on Moon Knight #25

Firestar (Angelica Jones) on Spider-Man 10

Jean Grey on Storm #3

Thor (Thor Odinson) on Thor Annual #1

Professor X (Charles Xavier) on Ultimate Invasion #2

Dylan Brock on Venom #22

Talon (the older Laura Kinney) on Wolverine 35

Bishop (Lucas Bishop) on X-Force #42

Psylocke (Kwannon) on X-Men: Days of Future Past: Doomsday #1

Exodus (Bennet Du Paris) on X-Men: Before the Fall - Sinister Four #1

Synch (Everett Thomas) on X-Men #24

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graphicpolicy · 11 months

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Around the Tubes

Some comic news and reviews from around the web to start the day #comics #comicbooks

The weekend is almost here! What geeky things are you all doing? Sound off in the comments below! While you wait for the weekday to end and weekend to begin, here’s some comic news and reviews from around the web to start the day. Smash Pages – Nominees announced for the 2023 Hugo Awards – Congrats to all of the nominees. Reviews Collected Editions – Batman: Detective Comics Vol. 3: Arkham…

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#captain marvel: dark tempest #comic books #Comics #detective comics #hugo awards #thor #x-men: before the fall sinister four

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smashpages · 1 year

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Prior to this year’s summer X-Men event, Fall of X, (yes, I know that’s confusing ... why not “Summer of X”?) Marvel will release four one-shots that will “tie up long-simmering plotlines, reintroduce major players and put all the pieces in place for the dramatic events of the third annual Hellfire Gala.” They include:

X-MEN: BEFORE THE FALL – SINISTER FOUR #1

Written by KIERON GILLEN Art by PACO MEDINA Cover by LUCAS WERNECK On Sale July

And four Sinisters plot their next move in X-Men: Before the Fall– Sinister Four #1, written by Kieron Gillen and drawn by Paco Medina. In the aftermath of Sins of Sinister, all four Sinisters have been unmasked. They’ve gotten a taste of universal control, but their true plans for mutantkind are just beginning…

See the others.

#mister sinister #marvel #comics #comic books #the sinister four #x-men #x-men: before the fall #kieron gillen #paco medina #lucas werneck #fall of x

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comicwaren · 11 months

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From X-Men: Before the Fall - Sinister Four #001, “Lonely Hearts Club”

Art by Paco Medina, Edgar Delgado and Fer Sifuentes-Sujo

Written by Kieron Gillen

#x-men: before the fall - sinister four #mother righteous #rebecca essex #doctor stasis #nathaniel essex #charon #selene gallio #orbis stellaris #nathan essex #marvel #comics #marvel comics

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shadowdaddies · 6 months

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Meant to Be - Part IV.

Dark!Manorian x Reader

Part One | Two | Three

A/N: I keep deviating from my outline but I expect there to be 2 (maybe 3) more parts to this story

Muffled shouts sounded through the air, the sound echoing painfully in your head. Gloved hands grabbed your arms firmly, hauling you up as your vision cleared to reveal your guards eyeing you with concern.

“Miss, are you alright to stand on your own?” You turned to your right to see a young guard holding your arm - honey brown eyes searching your face with genuine concern. You hadn’t taken the time to really look at these men who were with you almost constantly in the castle - the four of whom had been watching your every move. An oversight on your part, which you would be sure to remedy.

You eyed the guard up and down - he was quite handsome, actually, with dark brown hair and ivory skin, tinged pink from the wind - and made a show of smiling at him as you put your hand on his. “Yes, I’m alright. Thank you...?”

“Ryon, miss.” You batted your eyelashes, giving Ryon your best doe-eyed, innocent look. You peered at the guard to your left - a slightly older gentleman with rich umber skin and graying hair - who was eyeing you with suspicion. You moved your hand to his lower arm, giving a gentle squeeze as you smiled brightly.

“And your name?”

The guard’s eyes softened almost imperceptibly. “Arnoux, miss.”

Rubbing your thumb soothingly along Arnoux’s arm, you stepped back slightly from the two men to stand on your own - all four guards still watching you intently. “Well, thank you both for your assistance. I do think that I should head back to my room, though. I am still feeling a bit faint.”

Ryon and the other two guards - you’d have to remember to learn their names later - looked to Arnoux, who was still watching you closely, an air of caution evident on his face. His dark eyes never left yours as the man gave a curt nod, signaling his approval. Ryon gently guided you ahead so that you were walking with the other two guards ahead of you, Ryon and Arnoux close behind.

You held your head high, mostly so that it was easier to make note of your surroundings without turning your head too much. You suspected Arnoux’s, admittedly wise, consternation towards you was due to your unabashed snooping, and you’d need to be more careful moving forward.

The group arrived at the door to your room, a tall blonde guard who Ryon addressed as Warrick ushering you inside as Arnoux instructed him to alert their Majesties of your “incident” in the garden. You internally sighed, hiding your disappointment as the door closed behind you, locking you in the room once more. The clock ticked quietly on the wall - its hands revealing how late in the day it was.

You looked out the window to the garden below where you had just fainted, your pulse pounding when you remembered what was in your dress pocket. You let out an exhale when flowers brushed your fingertips - they hadn’t caught you with the foxglove. Rushing over to the armoire, you took the foxglove from your pockets, burying the flowers beneath your sleeping clothes. You closed the drawer and doors to the chest, hurrying back to sit on the bed before anyone might come in and see.

The moment of rest as you sunk into the mattress was like a dam breaking open - the swell of emotions crashing down into a torrent of tears as you began to process the news. Your fiancé was alive, and here. This changed everything in your plan - you’d have to find not only your own way out of this castle, but how to help him escape as well.

Now was not the time for planning, however, as you finally let the tears fall, crying audaciously for anyone to hear. You wanted them to hear - Arnoux, Ryon, Manon, Dorian. You would let the entire palace hear your pain. And when you were ready, the entire palace would feel your wrath.

The door burst open, interrupting your sinister daydream as Dorian rushed in, Manon right behind him. Dorian looked near to tears himself as he knelt before you, sapphire eyes studying you for any sign of pain. Your mind detested how your heart swelled at his care. “We hurried here when Warrick informed us that you fainted in the gardens. We’ve called for a healer, but I needed to see that you were alright.”

Realizing they were coming from the dungeons where your fiancé was supposedly held, you glanced discreetly towards the clock on the wall. Less than eight minutes for Warrick to get down to the dungeons, and for them to return. If you could find the path to where he was kept, you would be able to make your escape with your love. An idea came to you - this would take time, but would be worth it in the end.

You turned to Dorian, slipping on the too-familiar mask of innocence you’d used on Ryon just moments ago as you sniffled and nodded into his hand that held your cheek. “I am feeling quite ill. The journey to the gardens was unexpectedly difficult for me. I was thinking, I should probably stay indoors for awhile. The library was warm and comfortable.”

You held back your smirk at the shocked look on their faces at your proposal, their predatory smiles of pleasure as they thought they’d finally tamed you. Little did they know that the fawn was luring the wolves into an archer’s range.

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