#Female Welfare

[corneliusbella]

Expository Christian Study: “Woman, Thou Art Loosed”

Introduction The phrase “Woman, thou art loosed” originates from Luke 13:12 (KJV): “And when Jesus saw her, he called her to him, and said unto her, Woman, thou art loosed from thine infirmity.” This study delves into the implications of this declaration for women’s well-being, their roles as mothers and wives, their relationships with their husbands, and the atmosphere of their homes.…

[saesans]

desperately need to know who came up with “right-wing, left-wing, the whole bird hates women” because it’s going on the list of things i plan to say as an exasperated elderly wise woman delivering truths to the naive young women of my mountain village

[haggishlyhagging]

The question of suitable employment is raised persistently within the welfare system: what is to be expected of women with children? should they work or stay home? what kind of work are they offered or forced to take? is that work entirely determined by prejudgments as to their nature—what can and should be expected of them because they are female, female and black, female and white, female and poor, female and unmarried? In New York City, women on welfare say that they have been strongly encouraged by welfare workers to turn to prostitution, the threat being that the individual woman may in the future be denied welfare benefits because the caseworker knows the woman could be making big bucks on the street; or in emergencies, women on welfare are told to raise the money they need by turning a trick or two. In Nevada, where prostitution is legal, women on welfare have been forced off welfare because they refused to accept the suitable employment of prostitution; once it is a legal, state-regulated job, there is no basis for refusing it. Prostitution has long been considered suitable employment for poor women whether it is legal or not. This is particularly cynical in the welfare system, given the fact that women on welfare have been subjected to "fornication checks"—questioned about their sexual relations at length, questioned as to the identity of the fathers of so-called illegitimate children, questioned as to their own sexual habits, activities, and partners—and have been denied welfare if living with a man or if a man spends any time in the domicile or if having a sexual relationship with a man. Their homes could be inspected anytime: searches were common after midnight, when the welfare workers expected to find the contraband man; the courts put a stop to late searches but daytime searches are still legal. Beds, closets, and clothes were inspected to see if any remnant of a male presence could be found. Sometimes criminal charges of fornication were actually brought against the mothers of illegitimate children; the purpose was to keep them from getting welfare. For instance, in one typical case, a New Jersey woman was convicted of fornication and given a suspended sentence; she was forced to name the father, who went to prison. Welfare workers were allowed to interrogate children concerning the social and sexual habits of their mothers. Women on welfare have even been required to tell when they menstruate. Women on welfare have had no rights to sexual privacy; and in this context, turning them toward prostitution goes right along with refusing to allow them private, intimate, self-determined sexual relations. Prostitution is the ultimate loss of sexual privacy. Gains made in the courts in the 1960s to restore rights of privacy to these women are being nullified by new welfare policies and regulations designed to control the same population in the same old ways—practices that reappear in new guises but are built on the same old attitudes and impinge on the welfare population in the same old and cruel ways. The state is a jealous lover, except when it pimps.

-Andrea Dworkin, Right Wing Women

[aroaessidhe]

2023 reads

This Dark Descent

YA fantasy in a world of political unrest & war

a girl whose family ranch is overcome with debt, and her only option to save it is to win the dangerous magical horse race - but she’s not allowed to use an enchanted horse

and a girl who uses illegal magic without a license, and can make undetectable animal golems

both are brought together by a rich heir who has a plan to help them both - in exchange for helping him

Jewish folklore; demidemi & questioning MCs

[nomad-of-the-valley]

Scientific Paper Review: Insects may or may not be sentient??

Reading this (https://www.wageningenacademic.com/doi/epdf/10.3920/JIFF2022.0041?role=tab) paper about welfare when farming black soldier flies (published 2023) with the main author being Meghan Barret, who is a super duper cool female scientist that believes strongly in insect welfare (e-portfolio link here: http://meghan-barrett.com/about-me/), and I'm astonished!

Introduction starts off with a quick overview of what the paper is getting into and then dives into background history. I love reading scientific papers simply because there is so much cool stuff to learn. Animal welfare is dependent upon how the animal views how it's doing. A pampered lap dog with depression still has depression. A sad bug living in a super duper cool vivarium (which are way hard to set up) is still sad.

Insects in science may or may not be sentient. How do you define sentient? Where do you draw the line of responding to making decisions? Wild! If insects are sentient we should, of course, treat them like we are. If they aren't how do we determine welfare for something that's not sentient. This isn't about philosophy though so we're continuing on.

There is a model called the five freedoms model. The paper said it best so I'm quoting them here, "According to that influential model of animals’ interests (Brambell, 1965), animals ought to kept in ways that keep them free: (1) from hunger and thirst; (2) from discomfort; (3) from pain, injury, and disease; (4) to express normal behaviour; and (5) from fear and distress.".

From here the introduction continues to go on to explain that it's hard to tell when an insect is doing or has this stuff. If a pet cat decides to be a picky eater, is the owner a bad owner for not keeping them free from hunger and thirst or is the cat being picky? Again though! Not hear for philosophy or ethics that's been discussed a hundred times before.

What can be determined though is if something kills an insect it is bad. If it increases mortality, like a parasite would, it is bad. Good thing is that factors between farmed invertabra (aka bugs) is pretty universal. Another good news is we know a lot about the biology of the black soldier fly! They have six larva stages.

That concludes this part of the post! More coming soon.

[gremlingottoosilly]

Social Worker!Reader who gets sent to Loser!Konig's house due to multiple calls and complaints about his behaviour and supposed mental state

You're here because you were really passionate about helping kids and the elderly. Too bad you were sent to work in a town that lacks kids and has over 60% of the elderly patients as very gruff veterans. Maybe it was something in the air, maybe it was some weird water-induced PTSD retaliation, but you're mostly handling calls from worried families of some traumatized veteran who decided to live in the area. That, and you also handle Konig. He is a good guy, really. Retired colonel - retired with honors, no less, and a mercenary gig that no doubt makes his PTSD feel even worse at times. He is a good guy whenever he doesn't hunt for deers in the woods - you're pretty sure it's kind of forbidden, but you're also not the one who would look at an anxious patient and tell him that no, having severing deer heads as a hobby isn't a good coping mechanism. Those are his emotional support mutilated animals, and you won't come between a guy and his passion. He is sort of a loser, you think. He got too much of that thousand-yard stare, his eyes following you everywhere. Staring in the crease of your shirt where your chest is, trying to take a peek under your skirt when summer heat approaches and you can't deal with the heat anymore. You exchange having sweaty legs for his leering stare, and it's almost a fair trade. He would look at you like he wants to kill you, and then politely ask for you to do a welfare check inside. You think - fucking hell, this dude is totally going to kill you. You think checking him off the checklist will probably give you a nice little bonus. Neutralizing a problem before it becomes bigger. Preventing a town-wide shooting conducted by a bored veteran with too many weapons stashed in his basement. He showed you - got excited and a little bit hard, having a pretty girl look all over his hunting riffles. He is smart enough not to tell you about the other things he is totally hiding - and you aren't dumb enough to try and investigate whether or not he has enough assault riffles stashed to supply a small army. You listen to his rambles about his favorite anime - not the harem garbage, at least, not a single underage female character in sight of his figure collection. You suppose it was nice, better than you thought it would be. Some of his favorite shows are fun, and you find yourself almost waiting for the next visit. You don't shove away his hand on your knee because you're priding yourself on preventing risks, and you sometimes, having sex with a weirdly hot nerdy guy next door is the only thing left on your welfare checklist.

[rebeccathenaturalist]

Okay, I know people as a general rule tend to not care about invertebrates as much as cute, fuzzy mammals, but this is a must-read if you care about animal welfare. The short version is that horseshoe crab blood has been used for decades in medicine as a way to test whether something is truly sterile; the blood clots in the presence of bacteria. Since then millions of horseshoe crabs have been captured and drained of blood, even though a synthetic alternative was developed a few years ago.

They go through a pretty brutal experience in the process. They're caught by fishermen who often throw them by their tails into a pile in the open air, and they're then trucked to a bleeding facility where they're strapped down and their blood is removed with needles jabbed directly into their hearts. Over half their blood may be taken, after which they're supposed to be returned to the ocean. However, it's likely many of them never make it back, instead turned into fish bait and sold by the same fishermen who caught them in the first place.

Apart from the fact that this is a horrific thing to put any animal through, the attrition due to fatalities has put a serious dent in horseshoe crab numbers. This is compounded by massive habitat loss, pollution, and the capture of horseshoe crabs as food, particularly as the females of one species are considered a delicacy. And other animals that rely on horseshoe crabs are suffering, too. The American rufa subspecies of the red knot, a medium-sized shorebird, is critically endangered as the horseshoe crab eggs it must have in order to successfully complete migration have become increasingly scarce, and it is likely the bird will become extinct if trends continue.

While there are guidelines for medical horseshoe crab harvest, they're considered optional. The few laws that exist are poorly enforced. Short of a complete ban on horseshoe crab blood in favor of the synthetic alternative, these animals are in very real danger of going extinct after a history spanning over 400 million years on this planet.

Thankfully, this article is not the first to bring forth the issues surrounding horseshoe crab harvest. Here are a few resources for further information and action (US based, though horseshoe crabs are threatened throughout their entire range):

Horseshoe Crab Conservation Network - https://horseshoecrab.org/conservation/

Wetlands Institute - https://wetlandsinstitute.org/conservation/horseshoe-crab-conservation/

Horseshoe Crab Recovery Coalition - https://hscrabrecovery.org/

[krirebr]

Still Life 1

Pairing: Alpha Curtis Everett x Omega Female Reader

Word Count: ~2.8k

Summary: Curtis has been volunteering as a foster alpha for three years now. He's never seen a case this bad...

Warnings: Angst (with an eventual happy ending), past abuse (not Curtis), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, physical scarring, extreme sexism, adult themes, explicit language, All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by me this time!

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Well, this is for all of you who thought you'd seen the worst angst I could possibly do. Sorry for how much this one's gonna hurt!

Big thanks to @paperweight91 and @bigtreefest who both read so much of this and helped with structuring and world-building. And huge thanks to everyone who showed so much enthusiasm for this idea. I'm so excited to share this story with you!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too!

As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

Nzzzz Nzzzz Nzzzz

Nzzzz Nzzzz Nzzzz

It took a moment for Curtis to pull himself out of sleep enough to realize the incessant noise was his phone vibrating loudly on his nightstand. It took another moment for him to pull himself together enough to answer it. “Hello?” he croaked.

“Morning, Curtis,” a harried voice came through from the other end. “This is Yona from the Omega Welfare Center. I'm so sorry to call so early, but we've had kind of a crazy night here and we're in need of several emergency placements.”

That had him waking up. “What happened?” he asked, seriously, sitting up in bed.

She sighed, all of her exhaustion coming through. “A traditionalist compound a couple hours away got raided by the feds and ATF. They prepared for some omegas, but… There were a lot more. Kids too. It’s been all hands on deck at all five omega centers in the state. We’re over capacity, so we’re just trying to place anyone we can immediately.”

“Shit,” Curtis mumbled to himself. Traditionalist communities popped up on the news every once in a while, populated mostly by alphas on a power trip. But this one sounded bigger than most. He looked at his clock. It was just past five. “I’ve got room for one,” he said. “And I can be there in an hour.”

“Thank you, Curtis. I’ll see you soon.”

Fifty-five minutes later, Curtis was checking in at the center, his second coffee clutched in one hand. He’d been volunteering there as a foster Alpha for about three years. Mostly short-term placements. His longest one was just over a month. He provided safe touch, grounding, and a sense of security to omegas who needed to get back on their feet. He’d help them through heats when necessary, never knotting them, but whatever else they might need. Often, it was just his scent. It made him feel good, to be able to help these omegas, offer a positive alpha experience to omegas who hadn’t had many.

He’d worked with a few different case workers during his time. Yona had been the main one for the past year. He’d never heard her sound like she had that morning.

Even just at the front desk, he could sense how much more chaotic it was here than usual. He could hear babies screaming beyond the office door, endless anxious chatter. The entire building reeked of omegas in distress. It made his nose itch and his skin crawl.

After a few minutes of waiting, Yona came and got him. “How bad is it?” he asked the omega as she hurriedly led him down the hall. 

She showed him into a small meeting room as she answered, “Really, really bad. I’ve never seen anything like it. None of them are talking, but from what we can gather, most of them have spent their entire lives in the compound. No IDs, no papers. Figuring out who they are has been nearly impossible.  And as terrible as it may have been, their whole world was ripped apart in the last twenty-four hours. No one feels like cooperating. We hope you might have better luck as an alpha.”

“You think they'll talk to me?” 

She shakes her head. “Just the Omega we're placing with you. They've all been taught never to trust outsiders, but they've also been raised to see Alphas as the ultimate authority. So, it's worth a shot.”

He nodded, slowly. “What do you need?”

“Just basic identifying information for now. So we can see if she even exists in any sort of governmental system. Then we can go from there.”

“If you don’t have any information, what makes you think I’ll be a good fit for her?”

“Honestly,” Yona said, with a helpless shrug, “you only have room for one and she doesn’t have any pups. That’s it. Listen, I know this isn’t how we normally do things and I’m so sorry I’m just throwing you into it without any preparation, but we’re really desperate here. They’re all high needs, high risk. There’s no existing support network for them, and there are more of them than we have room for. So we called all of our most experienced, most dependable alphas first thing this morning so we can focus on the ones we have room to house here. I know it isn’t fair to you but–”

“Hey,” Curtis interrupted. “It’s ok, I understand. I’ll take care of her. I promise.”

“Thank you,” she breathed out, a small fraction of the tension she’d been holding bleeding out of her shoulders. “Ok, I’m gonna go bring her in.” 

She slipped through the door and Curtis leaned against the table in the center of the room as he waited. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on putting together a to-do list. He had two sets of nesting supplies always ready, one with his scent and one without. In the next few days, he’d try to figure out if there was anything else this omega wanted for the nest. He’d gone grocery shopping the day before, so his pantry was stocked, but he’d see if there were any favorite comfort foods he could grab in his next shop. He needed to rearrange his work schedule, push back some deadlines so he’d have time to get the omega settled. He had no idea what they’d be bringing with them, so a shopping trip for toiletries and clothes would probably be necessary. Depending on the omega's state, maybe he'd be able to get the shopping done on the way back to his house. He glanced at the time on his phone. Shit. Depending on what was open.

At movement right outside the door, he stood at attention. Yona came back in with you right behind her. He took a good look at you. You wore a rumpled long-sleeved floral dress that went down to your ankles. It was faded like it’d been washed too many times. Your eyes were fixed on the tennis shoes you wore, which had probably been white at one point, but now were discolored and looked like they didn’t fit quite right. 

There was a little hand-written number ten pinned to your dress. He wanted to raise a judgemental brow at Yona, but if none of you would say your names, he supposed Yona and her team had to come up with some way to keep track of you all.

He had to stifle a gasp when his eyes landed on your neck. There was a large bite scar over your mating gland. Unlike the neat and pretty, well-healed ones he was used to seeing, yours was deep and jagged, red and white, scar tissue bubbling up where your flesh had clearly been torn. This didn’t look like a mating bite. It was the sort of bite meant to inflict pain. What sort of alpha had you had??

Your eyes stayed on the floor, your expression blank but your scent said so much – panic, sadness, terror, relief all jumbled together. He wanted to reach out and touch you, his alpha instincts were going haywire, but he kept his hands to himself. 

“This is Curtis,” Yona said to you. “He's the alpha who's going to look after you until we can get all this sorted.”

You didn’t react at all, just stood there, stiff as a board with your eyes on your shoes.

He stayed where he was, conscious of giving you space. “It’s very nice to meet you,” he said, as gently as he could. Then, with a glance to Yona, “Can you tell me your name?”

Your face scrunched up and the fear in your scent spiked but you didn’t say anything. He sighed. Shit. He really didn’t want to have to use an alpha command with you right now. That could be disastrous for any dynamic he tried to build with you. But they needed this information. He really, really hoped you wouldn’t make him force you.

“Omega, what’s your name?” he asked as firmly as he could, hopefully without scaring you. “I need to know.”

You closed your eyes tightly and he thought he saw the smallest little head shake. There was another moment of silence and he looked at Yona nervously. But then, you said it. So quietly he almost didn’t catch it. But you said it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yona frantically scribbling it down, but his focus was completely on you.

He tried to keep his sigh of relief to himself. “That was so good. Thank you. You’re doing so well,” he said, keeping the praise soft, hoping you could scent how pleased he was with you. “When were you born?”

You gave up your birthday a little more easily, but you left off the year. 

“That’s great. Thank you. Do you know how old you are?” he asked, maintaining his gentle tone, knowing it was possible that you didn’t.

For whatever reason, it was that that finally got a reaction out of you. You looked up at him, so he could finally see your eyes, and snarled, “I’m not stupid!”

There was a beat when no one did anything. Curtis and Yona just stared at you in shock. The snarl was frozen on your face until it suddenly disappeared and your eyes got wide. Before he was able to process any of what was happening, you’d dropped down onto your knees. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry, Alpha. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Alpha, I’m sorry.” You just keep repeating that in a constant stream, your head tucked to your chest.

Repeatedly mixed into that jumble was a number. It took Curtis a few moments to realize it was your age. You were answering his question. He quietly repeated it to Yona, then dropped down to his knees as well so he could be closer to your level. “Hey, hey. You’re okay. You’re alright. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re right. You aren’t stupid. I can already tell how smart you are. It’s okay. I’m not mad.” He wanted to reach out and touch you, wrap you in his arms, even, comfort you however he could. But he was too afraid that that’d make you panic even more. That was a boundary he couldn’t cross. Not yet. He stayed down there, whispering reassurances to you for as long as it took for you to stop apologizing, and a few extra minutes for your breathing to calm down. Once you seemed like you were back in the present moment, he moved to a crouch. “Think you can stand up for me, honey?”

You nodded, but you were back to keeping your eyes downcast. “Yes, Alpha.”

He wanted to tell you that you didn’t need to call him ‘Alpha,’ that ‘Curtis’ was just fine. But that could wait until you were a little more comfortable. Once he had you home, maybe. He could already tell that picking his battles was going to be important.

“Thank you,” he said as he stood up to his full height, and you did as well. “You answered my questions so well. You gave me exactly what I needed.” He looked to Yona to see if there was anything else.

“Do you have any questions for me or Curtis?” she asked you.

You shook your head, emphatically, hunching your shoulders. The room filled with the scent of fear again.

“Okay… that’s fine,” Yona said, and he could tell how much she hated this. “Well,” she turned to Curtis, “I’ll go get the paperwork and then you two can get home. I’ll be right back,” she said to you, then left the room. 

This was happening too fast. In normal circumstances, you would have already been at the center for a few weeks, at least, with access to mental health professionals, life skill classes, and support groups. He’d be the last step before going back to the real world. You’d be ready to spend time with an alpha. Ready to work through processing positive physical attachments. Ready to learn how to share space with someone who wasn’t a threat to you. You’d be ready to slowly take steps into the world, with him there to support you.

You had backed yourself into the corner now. He could see the way every single muscle in your body was trying not to cower. You weren’t ready. You were nowhere near ready. But with all the resources for at-risk omegas pushed to their limit by this raid, what would happen to you if he didn’t take you? As insufficient as it might be, his help could be all you’d be able to get. This wasn’t how it should be, but he’d do everything he could for you.

Yona came back in and he watched her take you in, sighing at your state. He knew she was thinking the same things he was. “Ok,” she said, handing him the packet of forms to sign. “No changes since last time. You know the drill.”

He nodded as he grabbed them and sat down at the table, getting to work signing where he was supposed to. As he did, he felt your eyes on him as the scent of your apprehension filled the room.

Yona called your name. “Let’s go outside for a minute while Curtis finishes up.”

You both left quietly. This, too, was part of normal procedure. She was asking if you were sure you were comfortable leaving with him, telling you you had the option to say no, getting your verbal and written consent, and giving you cards with all the emergency numbers on them. He was afraid this situation might stretch the legal definition of informed consent. Based on everything he’d seen so far, he couldn’t picture a scenario where you’d say no. 

Nothing about this felt good, but everyone’s hands were tied. And he knew that he’d do everything he could to keep you as safe as possible.

A few minutes after he’d finished signing the last page, you and Yona came back in. A worn knapsack hung from your fingers. It was small, confirming Curtis’s suspicions that you didn’t have much in the way of clothes. Alright, that was priority number one.

Yona had a thin folder in her hand that she immediately passed to Curtis. “The regular information, along with her schedule of appointments for the next few weeks, both doctor and therapist. And the card for the agent in charge of the investigation into the compound, in case anything pertinent comes up.” Then she turned to you with a small box. “I’ve got a couple packets of suppressants for you. Do you want them or do you want Curtis to keep track of them for you?”

Your eyes cut to him suspiciously then flitted back to the floor. “Alpha,” you muttered.

“Okay,” Yona said, handing the box to Curtis as well. Then she clapped her hands together, her face set in grim determination. “I won’t keep you any longer then. I’ll see you both next week.”

On the way out of the center, Curtis was all too aware of the way you walked exactly three steps behind him, one step to the left. That wasn’t just old-fashioned, it was archaic. He’d never seen an omega do it in real life.

At his truck, you looked at the truckbed in a way that made him worried you might try to ride back there, so he opened the passenger door for you and waited for you to get in. He resisted the part of his alpha instincts that wanted to buckle you in. And after a gentle request, you did it yourself.

As the two of you hit the road, he reached over to turn the radio on. He tried to move slowly, but you still flinched. “Want some music?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t respond, so he found an oldies station and left the volume low. His plan for the day had shifted a bit. You definitely weren’t ready to go shopping. That was fine. There was nothing that couldn’t be delivered.

About five minutes into the drive, the strong scent of your tears filled the cab. He looked over at you. You were huddled against the door, as far away from him as you could get. Your face was pressed against the window, so all he could see was the back of your head. But he could hear your sniffles and he could smell your distress.

It took everything in him to not pull over right now and reach over to comfort you. Pull you into his arms. Rub soothing circles on your back. But he knew that would do more harm than good. His touch wouldn’t be welcome. Yet. You weren’t ready.

And god, he wasn’t either. He wasn’t ready for any of this. But damn it, he was going to try.

Tag List is open!

@stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @darkserenity24 @midnightramyeoncravings @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @ronearoundblindly @brandycranby @steviebbboi @missaprilt23 @thiquefunlover63 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @stellar-solar-flare @crazyunsexycool @littlelearningbrat

[flowerandblood]

Paradise Fruit (1)

[ Kingdom of Heaven • King Baldwin x female ]

[ warnings: watching each other masturbate, soft, poetic smut, a detailed description of the deadly disease and the unpleasant symptoms associated with it ]

[ description: After being treated by King Saladin's physicians, King Baldwin begins to leave his chambers. The people of the court whisper around her that the young ruler will not even live to be thirty years old. As a lady of waiting of his sister, she attracts his attention. ]

Author's Note: I said it and I did it: I know this isn't your typical Ewan Mitchell character, but I couldn't resist. I'm glad I wrote this because I had too many thoughts after watching this movie and now my soul is at peace! For those who haven't seen Kingdom of Heaven, I highly recommend it, it's an amazing production.

Word count: 3.900

Part 2 – White Marriage

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

My other works: Masterlist

_____

Jerusalem seemed to her at once a paradise and a hell on earth, both beautiful, sublimely sacred, as much as broken, dirty and cruel. The reign of King Baldwin IV was a reign of restraint and peace, the greatest evidence of which was his rich diplomatic correspondence with King Saladin himself.

Baldwin gave permission for the Muslim part of Jerusalem to hold prayers as it wished, on payment of appropriate taxes – a huge step towards reconciling the city's disparate population and a cause of contention among the Christian knights.

As lady of the court, she accompanied the royal sister, Sibylla, like her shadow, serving her with conversation, reading books in her company, being the equivalent of her friend and confidante, watching over her welfare.

She was the third daughter, and was therefore a burden to her lord father, who sent her to Jerusalem to the royal court when she was thirteen. Her father hoped that Sibylla herself would find her a suitable husband and put up the coins for her dowry, allowing her family to glory on the Old Continent in the fact that her chosen one was favoured by the God in the Holy Land.

Looking at Princess Sibylla's marriage, she prayed that she would never meet her fate, preferring to eventually fade into old age in a monastery.

Her Lady abhorred her husband: not in a physical context, for he was not unlike other great knights in stature or appearance, but in his heart, which was filled with the lust for power.

Although he believed that he was acting in the name of Christ on the Earth, he represented neither his mercy nor his prudence, being a simply unkind and spiteful man.

Sibylla was given in marriage to him at the age of 15, and she watched her sufferings and humiliations in silence, only being able to allow herself occasionally to close her hand on hers, giving her encouragement.

It was known that her husband's dream was the death of the King, for it would then be his wife who would become heir to the throne. Someone might laugh at this wish, knowing that King Baldwin was only 16 years old when she arrived at court.

However, despite such a young age, it was known that the King would probably not live to see his thirtieth year.

The cruel disease that had descended upon his body when he was still a young child, leprosy, was the reason why his whole body was covered, and his face was adorned with a beautiful silver mask – the only thing visible through it were his eyes, bright and wise, the skin around his eyelids all red.

His sister despaired at his undeserved suffering, at the thought that his body was falling apart, his skin peeling and pulling away from his muscles, causing him excruciating pain. He could not touch anyone or be touched directly because his disease was contagious.

Thus, one of the greatest rulers of Jerusalem, a man who had accomplished the impossible and ushered, at least for a while, the Kingdom of Heaven into this forbidden holy land, suffered daily torment.

As she prayed for the health of her family and his sister, she also prayed for him – since Christ was able to miraculously cure lepers, as the Bible itself said, perhaps there was hope for him too.

As a sign of respect and friendship, the Muslim King Saladin sent a retinue of his best physicians to relieve the King of his pain, which must have helped at least to some extent, for although she had previously only seen him in audience standing by his sister's side, now the King began to walk through the palace gardens on his own.

One day, when Sibylla noticed him standing next to one of the monks, she approached him immediately, praising his name, and she moved humbly to follow her, feeling grateful at the thought that the King was indeed feeling better.

That perhaps her prayers had been answered.

"Brother. It rejoices me to see you in the fresh air, away from the suffocating comfort of your chambers full of books and parchments." Sibylla said, pulling her shawl from her mouth, revealing her face to her brother.

As a married woman, she covered her face out of sheer decency, as her husband was a jealous man, but she, as a maiden, in addition almost always being in the presence of her Lady, did not have to do so.

"Your judgement is too harsh, dear sister. Books and parchments are my solace in the hardest of times." He said calmly and lazily, effortlessly – it was the first time she had heard his voice this close and she thought the words coming out of his mouth were like humming.

He had a white linen cloth draped over his head that reminded her of the headgear of the pharaohs, a richly embroidered white robe and gloves on his body, a silver mask portraying the features of a handsome, masculine man on his face.

She swallowed hard as his gaze shifted to her, catching her looking shamelessly at her ruler's face, causing her to lower her head immediately.

"Let's take a walk. We should take advantage of the beautiful weather." Said his sister, wanting to take his arm, he however moved away immediately and shook his head.

Pain and sadness crossed Sibylla's face, but after a moment she only nodded and forced herself to smile, walking ahead with him, letting her and the King's servant walk a few steps behind them.

That evening, for the first time, the King summoned her.

"Do not fret." Sibylla said. "My brother is a man of decency and sensitivity. Rest assured, he will not set upon your virtue or force you to do things unworthy of a lady. He confessed to me that he would like to look at your face for at least a moment longer and asked me to convey his wish to you, indicating that you may refuse."

She looked at her in disbelief, feeling the blush of embarrassment appear on her cheeks at her words, feeling her heart begin to pound like mad.

"If it is the will of our beloved King, I will do so." She said, and Sibylla nodded, giving her one satisfied smile.

She wore her most beautiful robe and hair adornments as if she were about to attend a nuptials – the material cast over her body was blue, fastened at the shoulders and waist with golden buckles, in her hair at the sides jewellery resembling a wreath of laurel leaves.

As she entered his chamber, candles burned all around, she was also struck by the intense scent of lavender – she noticed immediately his white, seated figure bent over thick tomes. His head turned towards her, in his mask she was able to see the reflection of everything around him.

"Do not be afraid. Come closer." He said softly and she nodded, feeling her heart flutter in her chest like a bird.

Her footsteps on the stone floor echoed through his chamber, the rustling of her robe as she sat down opposite him made her sound similar to the rustling of leaves.

She swallowed hard as she watched him sigh and spread out comfortably in his chair, looking her straight in the eye – she immediately looked away, unaccustomed to such confidentiality with anyone.

"No." He said. "Don't deny me this pleasure."

She tightened her fingers on the material of her garment, lifting her gaze to him again, feeling herself involuntarily begin to breathe through her mouth.

She could see the calm and curiosity in his eyes – his head was tilted slightly to one side, as if he was thinking about something, silence all around him.

"I'm making you uncomfortable." He concluded.

She shook her head quickly, horrified, thinking that something in her posture or gaze had discouraged him.

"No, Your Grace. I just don't know how to behave. What is appropriate for me to do or say in your presence. Silence is safe." She confessed in shame, lowering her eyes to her fingers again, reminding herself after a moment that she should not do so.

The King hummed at her words.

"Do not take my words as my attempt to mock you, however, knowing how little time I have left in this wretched world has made me tread lightly in courtly etiquette." He said with amusement, not taking his eyes off her, something flashed in his gaze as if someone had lit a candle inside them.

"We waste time feigning care and respect, hiding what is true, arising from the depths of our hearts, because that is what etiquette demands of us. When we stand before God, will we say to him: I have never really loved or sympathised, but my lips have left many beautiful, great words?" He asked, and she looked at him in disbelief, completely surprised by his approach and what she had heard.

Some part of her knew he was right.

"In this world, only the King can afford to lack beautiful words." She muttered, hearing after a moment that something akin to a chuckle had left his lips.

"You are mistaken. One word from the King can either create or destroy."

She lowered her head, wondering if he had just rebuked her, he, however, seemed satisfied.

"My reign will end with my death, which will be in a few years at the latest. I will not beget an heir to whom I can pass on my philosophy of ruling, the values that are essential. My sister's husband and his greed will sit on the throne, and Jerusalem will fall." He said calmly, as if he were telling her about the weather, his fingers clad in a white silk glove tapping rhythmically against the table top.

She swallowed hard, feeling a squeeze in her heart, wondering if perhaps the reason he had summoned her was quite different from what she had suspected.

"What shall I do, my King?" She asked, and he laughed again, louder this time, looking at her as if something in her question gave him pleasure.

"Your devotion rejoices my heart. Do not think, however, that you will hear from me an order that would condemn you to eternal damnation. I could not then leave this world in peace. No. I wish that when I disappear, someone will watch over my sister. To help her escape when all is lost here, no matter what her husband will desire. Do you understand what I have in mind?" He asked softly, and she nodded, thinking she felt more respect towards him than ever.

"Yes, my King." She replied.

He smiled at her words, she saw it in his gaze. She lifted her gaze higher, towards the windows by which the shoots of dried lavender hung, surrounding them with a pleasant, refreshing scent.

"I had these beautiful flowers brought in from far away. They mask well the unpleasant ailments of my illness on hot days. The smell of rotting flesh is one of the most disgusting to man, for nature equates it with spoiled food from which he can die." He explained, and she looked at him in disbelief, feeling hot shame ripple through her body at his words.

His suffering must have been unimaginable.

"Knights praise their own greatness and bravery during battles wishing for songs to be sung about them. I, for one, hope to hear songs about Baldwin IV, a wise and prudent King, a merciful Monarch who fought each day with his own suffering and triumphed. I do not know the words that can convey my admiration for your person." She mouthed in a trembling voice, feeling that her hands lying on her thighs were quivering all over with emotion, burning tears for some reason squeezed under her eyelids.

The King looked at her for a long moment in silence, something in his gaze that made her feel a pleasant tingling in her fingertips.

"Your soul is as beautiful as your body. You are like a breath of cool wind on a hot day. I am grateful to you for allowing me to experience this joy."

As she left his chamber, for some reason she burst out crying.

She could not understand why: it seemed to her that her heart squeezed all over in pain, not only out of compassion, but also out of a sense of injustice that a man so great and enlightened was experiencing undeserved torment every day.

Or was it through his ordeal that he became such a man, such a King?

If the gates of the Kingdom of Heaven were to open before anyone in the second life, it was before him, she thought.

That night she could not sleep: she was ashamed of herself for thinking about him. She tried not to pay attention to men, knowing their nature, knowing that they might consider it an invitation on her part to sin.

However, the time she spent with him, although she might perceive his words as ambiguous, seemed to her something almost spiritual, a moment of awakening, as if she had been in a half-sleep until the moment she looked into his eyes.

His gaze would find her in the audience among the other servants and ladies of the court. She knew this because his eyes stopped on her face, and although he listened intently to what his subjects were saying to him, she knew that for that one moment he was focused only on her.

The flutter of her heart shamed her, allowing her to realise that, like a flower, a warm and pleasant feeling was blossoming within her, coming from God.

"You occupy my brother's thoughts. He follows you with his eyes." Said Sibylla as they walked together through the corridors of the great, cold stone fortress.

"It was not my desire to distract him from the affairs of the Kingdom." She confessed with shame, entwining her fingers on her womb, looking sadly at her fingers. His sister snorted at her words.

"Jerusalem is destroying him. It is the Kingdom that is his disease. He has taken upon himself all its sins, purified it. He gave it years of peace and dignity." She said with a pain from which she felt a sting in her heart.

Why was it that whenever she thought of him she wanted to cry?

"I want to relieve him." She said finally, looking at her uncertainly, afraid of how the words sounded when they left her mouth. Sibylla stopped, looking at her with furrowed brows.

"Don't be a fool. My brother will not condemn you to a fate similar to his own."

"There are many ways to experience relief. You said so yourself, Princess."

Sibylla looked at her thoughtfully and after a moment nodded, giving her wordless consent to whatever she wished to do.

The trust she had in her intimidated her.

As the siblings' chambers were next to each other, walking along the corridor from one quarters to the other was not a problem for her – Sibylla dismissed her guards so that no one could see in what negligee she went to the king's chamber.

Her long hair was loose, her body covered only by a thin nightgown, rubbed with fragrant oils, on her shoulders a cashmere shawl with which she covered herself to protect herself from the cold.

When she closed the door behind her and turned to face him, his eyes were wide in shock. He was silent for a moment, clearly not knowing what to say.

"No." He said finally. "Go back to your chamber."

"I have not come to you to sin. Does the sight of me disgust you, my King?" She asked in a trembling voice, feeling that she was breathing heavily through her mouth, her heart pounding like mad in her chest.

She saw something in his gaze that looked like he felt pain, his figure creased slightly, as if he had run out of strength.

"God created you to subject me to the ultimate trial. He is torturing me like Job."

She felt a single, warm, heavy tear run down her cheek at his words, her body trembling all over, hot and cold at the same time with desire, though she did not know what kind or what was causing it.

"God sent me to soothe your suffering." She whispered.

They looked at each other like that for a long moment that lasted an eternity, and only after a while did she realise that his silence was due to the fact that he wanted whatever she was going to do to be due to her free will. Therefore, she moved tentatively towards his bed, on which she saw a clean, snow-white sheets, and lay down on her back, putting her shawl aside.

She looked up at him – his gaze was fixed on her, his silhouette sitting in a chair by the window frozen in stillness, the whiteness of his attire seeming to her to shine amidst the candles and the surrounding darkness of the night.

She swallowed hard, feeling the dryness in her throat as her fingers lifted to the ties of her nightgown – she untied the knot, a pleasant squeeze spreading between her thighs, something sticky beginning to leak from it onto the sheet beneath her buttocks.

"– does what I am doing disgust you, my King? – is it a sin? –" She asked, sliding the thin material off her shoulders in a gentle, soft motion, unashamedly revealing her plump, sweet breasts. His gaze fled to them, as if what he had just seen simultaneously terrified and excited him.

"– looking at you, all I feel is desire – it's me sinning in my mind, not you –" He whispered so that she barely heard him, his hand sliding from the table top to his thigh.

Though she knew it was wrong, her whole body screamed, wanting him to touch her, to check for himself how soft and warm her flesh was, her moist, swollen womanhood, pulsing around nothing in desire.

"– not just you, Your Grace –" She muttered in a trembling voice, shamefully mimicking his movements, her long, small fingers sliding down her belly between her thighs, sinking into her warm folds like the moist flesh of an exotic fruit.

His head bowed as they both made a strange, unnatural sound full of surprise at the same moment, a moan as if they had caused each other pain, but yet all she could feel was a wonderful, hot tingling in her quivering womanhood, in her lips, in her nipples, in the tips of her fingertips.

He did not allow her to look at what he was touching under the material of his robe, she could however see the shape of that part of his body outlined on the material – his manhood was long and fat like a piece of stick, growing larger and larger with each squeeze of his hand.

She threw her head back, imagining feeling something that big inside her, in an involuntary reflex finding with her fingertips her puffy slit, slick and tight, resisting her as she tried to slide it inside her.

"– let me see –" He whispered, as if asking for something dirty, disgusting, repulsive.

She, however, felt only the heat of pleasure at his words shake her body – her thighs involuntarily parted, her legs bent at the knees allowing her nightgown to shamelessly reveal all that only her husband should be able to look at.

She felt tears under her eyelids at the thought of wanting to be his wife.

"– you have my love, my King – you have my heart –" She breathed out, digging her fingers deeper into the delicate structure of her folds, teasing again and again the small bud from which her body went through shivers of wonderful, familiar pleasure.

His eyes were fixed on what was between her thighs, his gaze hazy and hot, his breath heavy, the sound of his hand smacking against his flesh sticky and lewd.

"– like the inside of a ripe fruit – like Eve in paradise –" He breathed out, staring at her as if he were looking at something delightful, accelerating the splats of his hand with a low grunt of pleasure. "– so beautiful –"

She felt a thrill of pleasure shake her, shivers ran through her cheeks, breasts and legs at his words, so shameless and yet poetic, beautiful, like the Song of Songs of King David.

"– her breasts are like two fawns –" She hummed, quoting one of the biblical verses, the gaze of her King again fixed on her face, full of fire, heavenly or infernal. "– like twin fawns of a gazelle that browse among the lilies –"

"– her lips drop sweetness as the honeycomb – milk and honey are under her tongue –" He whispered in reply, quoting another of the songs from the manuscript, making her involuntarily allow her own fingers to invade her insides at last.

She threw her head back with a girlish moan, her free hand gripping the frame of his bed, rolling her hips back and forth, stretching her tight interior with the sticky clicks of her wetness.

"– she is a spring enclosed – a sealed fountain –" He muttered and let out a low, helpless groan of relief, leaning down, his hand lying on the table top clenched into a fist.

She felt a wonderful convulsion shake her body at his words, her fleshy, moist walls beginning to throb and clench around her own fingers.

She imagined that her body had just sucked his seed deep inside her, which would take root in her like a tree, giving him a future and an inheritance.

She moaned as she felt her pleasure reach its peak, seeing for a moment only the darkness before her eyes – her fingers, all wet with her moisture stroked for a moment more the little spot deep inside her, her whole body hot and sweaty from the exertion.

Her release was wonderful and sweet, as if she had tasted the most delicious of fruits.

She opened her eyes and met his gaze, his figure relaxed and spread out comfortably on the chair, his hand laid back on its armrest, his glove sticky with something pearly and shiny.

They breathed loudly for a while, just watching each other – she decided not to cover her body, wanting to give him that pleasure, wishing only his gaze could see her like this.

Bare.

He sighed quietly, cocking his head, his gaze satisfied, indicating that he had clearly made a decision in his heart.

"– I will marry you tomorrow at dawn –"

She blinked and raised herself up on her elbows, horrified.

"– my King – that's not –"

"– I know that this was not your intention – I also know that you will understand that it will be a white marriage, which I will declare to all and sundry – you will not lose your maidenhood – you will not bear me children – the Kingdom will treat you after my death as a saint who stood by the dying King in his misery – when I join my Father in the Heavens, you will be free to remarry –" He explained and she shook her head, feeling offended by his words.

"– I will not take another husband –"

He fell silent and swallowed hard, as if something in the certainty in which she said this moved him deeply.

"– very well – I have only one condition: you will never take off my mask – not even after my death – you will see me as I am only in the Kingdom of Heaven –"

[torchwood-99]

Eowyn and Romance

Something I truly appreciate about Eowyn is that she, from the start, a romantic being, and (although not explicitly so) a sexual one, as in she obviously feels both romantic and sexual desires.

Often the rebellious female lead will chafe at the prospect of marriage, only to change her mind when the "right man" comes along. I tire of this narrative, not because I begrudge female characters who dislike the idea of romance and marriage and sees hem as the antithesis to freedom, but because I loathe the narrative of them "learning a lesson" and "mending their ways".

Marriage and romance, when both are unwanted, are a denial of freedom and autonomy, and in patriarchal societies where wife is subservient to husband, particularly so.

Eowyn however associates romantic love and marriage not to a lack of freedom, but an escape to it. And this makes sense when we consider the cage that Eowyn is kept in.

Eowyn already takes on the "domestic" burden of the wife, running her uncle's household and acting as his nurse. As his niece, his adopted daughter and his subject, Eowyn is in a position of utter subservience to him. Yet as his nurse, he is dependant upon her.

This does not balance out their relationship and result in some sort of equality, it means that Eowyn has to endure all the submission of being a dependant, without the relief from obligations or duties, and all the labours and responsibilities of being a provider, without any of the authority or power.

Although Eowyn is mistress of the hall, she is not mistress of her own hall. She is not a queen, and if Theodred, later Eomer, were to wed, her rank as leading lady would be supplanted.

As Theoden's nurse, she is also carrying the burden of being the family caretaker in the family, tending to Theoden's needs, and also stifling her own unhappiness before her family in order to fulfil her duty. Emotionally she is trapped, stuck by tending to the feelings of others, as much as she is physically.

All of this has resulted in Meduseld becoming a cage for Eowyn.

To be married would be to take her away from Meduseld. To be married would be to lift her from an estate she finds demeaning. To be married would be to be mistress of her own home.

And when we look at the men she is attracted to, and the qualities that attract her, we see how different the sort of love and relationship she hopes to have are to the one she has with Theoden.

Aragorn and Faramir are strong, and powerful in a way that Theoden has not been. Eowyn's sense of identity has been tied up in Theoden, so Theoden's infirmity and, by her understanding, his "shame" has become her own, helped along by Grima's manipulation. On a more practical level, Theoden's dependency on her is extremely limiting to her own freedom and opportunities.

Eowyn is immediately attracted to Aragorn because of his power, and Faramir's strength of a warrior is one of the first things she notices about him. To be joined in a union with them would be to be associated with their power. To be married to them would be to have a function and existence beyond that off dry nurse.

While Aragorn and Faramir are noted to be fierce warriors, they're gentle too, Faramir in particular is defined more by gentleness than he is warrior prowess. He is a warrior by necessity, a nurturer by nature. As the assigned caretaker of her family, to be married to someone who would take equal (if not outright greater) responsibility for both of their physical and emotional welfare is pivotal for Eowyn to gain her freedom.

Whereas marriage is often seen as the alternative to ambition, romance an alternative to fighting, when Eowyn offers her love to Aragorn, acceptance would not have taken the form of marriage, but of joining him on his ride to the Paths of the Dead. For Eowyn, to be a warrior is to be free, and her vision of life with Aragorn is that of two warriors, side by side. That is how she envisions marriage.

Although post war Eowyn turns towards healing as opposed to slaying, Faramir acknowledges Eowyn as a warrior, and celebrates her for her deeds and her valour. And while Eowyn no longer wishes to be a shieldmaiden, taking joy "only" in the songs of slaying (that "only" suggesting that she will still take joy in them, and will maintain a part of her shieldmaiden identity), the desire to heal, to grow things, is a wish shared with Faramir, and when they embark on that journey, it's one they do as equals.

Eowyn has been pigeonholed into the role of family caretaker, and her family sees her entirely through that lens. As a result, they not only fail to see her true desires and ambitions, they not only fail to acknowledge her as a warrior, but they also fail to fully appreciate that she needs care, emotional care, in turn.

It is Eowyn's duty to give care, not receive it. It is Eowyn's duty to facilitate their deeds, not achieve her own. It is Eowyn's duty to celebrate their feats, not be celebrated in turn.

And Eowyn performs this role, she allows them to maintain this view of herself by internalising her unhappiness, her frustration and despair, because she sees it as a her duty to do so.

She finally drops the performance in front of Aragorn, and reveals to him just how as despairing she is. Aragorn does not fail to see beyond Eowyn's mask, and in his speech in the Houses of Healing shows he acknowledges both her suffering and her courage, but he does not free her.

He instructs her to resume the performance, and to try to content herself with one more doing all the labours that no one remembers, the valour that goes without renown.

Faramir meets Eowyn, and he sees she is wounded, she is sorrowful, he sees she is proud, he sees she is beautiful, he sees she is a maiden, "young and sad".

When Faramir is falling in love with Eowyn, he notices she looks "queenly", suitable for one whose deeds have put her, in Aragorn's words, on an even standing with the queens of old.

When Faramir asks Eowyn to marry him, he tells her he does not pity her, because she is a "lady high and valiant" and has performed deeds that will not be forgotten.

When Eowyn says she wishes to become a healer, and love all things that grow, Faramir eagerly agrees, and says, if she wills it, they will go to Ithilien and grow a garden there, and all things will grow with joy in Eowyn's presence.

Faramir sees all aspects of Eowyn. Eowyn the sorrowful. Eowyn the beautiful. Eowyn the queen. Eowyn the valiant. Eowyn the legend. Eowyn the healer. Eowyn the gardener.

Faramir sees all these parts of Eowyn, and one is not diminished by the other. Her valour isn't compromised by her vulnerability. Her need for care isn't compromised by her ability to lead.

This is reciprocated on Eowyn's part. Beregond bemoans that people fail to appreciate Faramir's capabilities as a warrior, because he is b nature more of a scholar and a nurturer. Eowyn immediately notices Faramir's strength and his gentleness, she is able to see the multitudes in him that she wishes to have seen in her.

It is notable she meets Faramir at a time when both of them are injured. Faramir is in a place of vulnerability as Theoden was, but Faramir is under the care of the healers. Eowyn's company helps to heal him, he wishes her to walk with him because he thinks it will be a comfort to be with her, but the bulk of his care is shared out by trained healers, for whom treating the sick is a profession, a calling perhaps, but not a familial duty that defines every facet of their existence.

Eowyn does not choose to be with Faramir in the place of choosing freedom. She chooses Faramir because the love he offers, the understanding he offers, the capabilities he possesses, will free her, in a way that Eowyn has been desiring and longing for.

[myfictionaldreams]

I Don’t Care // Mafia!Stuck x fem!reader

Summary: Request on AO3: 'The reader having a menstrual cycle, this one just a little worse than others, and Steve and Bucky worrying and helping her through it.'

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, threesome, dom/sub, fluff/comfort, period sex, mentions of blood, description of cramps, daddy kink, sir kink, vaginal fingering, choking, multiple orgasms, intense, cockwarming, overprotective, possessive behaviour, size different, praise kink

Words: 5.7k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

Mother nature had decided to curse your life today. Every 28 days without fail, your period would be an inconvenience but never to this extent, praying to whatever god was listening to save you from the excruciating waves of pain ripping through your uterus. Not only this, but it was affecting your entire body, feeling drained with fatigue, nauseous and a migraine slowly creeping through your temple.

You were mentally officially done with the day, and thankfully the anticipated meeting with Johann Schmidt was finished and successfully had gone according to plan, which meant no murders and happy handshakes to new beginnings. There were a few relaxed moments after waving them off and you were rushing to the toilet, needing to just sit and mentally process how you were going to survive the rest of the day.

Even though everyone was preparing to leave, there was still food shopping that needed to be completed which was a chore in of itself. Having to buy food for two grown men that ate triple the amount of any normal person was energy draining but now only this, in the evening, to celebrate the new partnership, Steve was taking the two groups to the fanciest restaurant in town.

Groaning, you doubled over in pain as you sat on the toilet, wishing to stay here instead or maybe, cuddled up on the sofa with Bucky and Steve but no, life wasn’t this simple, you’d need to suck it up and get on with the day and hoped it passed by quickly and at least the meeting was over.

Deciding to face the music, you finished using the bathroom, splashing some cool water on your face before exiting, only to come face to face with Bucky who was leaning against the wall, staring at the watch on his wrist.

“Good timing mama, another 30 seconds and I would have been coming in there. Didn’t think it was appropriate to be rushing into the female toilets but you’ve been a while”. Smiling softly at him, you walked over, watching as he extended his arms to pull your body against his chest.

“Overprotective Oaf, can’t a girl go to the toilet anymore without being timed”, you sarcastically mumbled into his shirt, taking a deep breath of his expensive cologne, and leaning into his unnaturally warm body.

“Wow oaf is a new one, thanks Doll”, he retorted but could feel his smile as he rested his mouth against the top of your head, his arms circling your shoulders. “I don’t usually time you in the toilet either, just worried was all, no offence but you’re looking a little peaky today”.

You could have stayed in that one spot all day, his gigantic body just completely dwarfing yours, like a boyfriend cocoon. This was until another cramp ripped through your abdomen, causing you to tense and scrunch your face to stop from audibly shouting. Bucky felt the change, his arms squeezing you tighter before easing himself back so he was able to cup your face, thumb stroking against your cheek.

“That bad, huh?”

“A little yeah. It’s fine, I’m due some pain relief now anyway, I’ll be ok”, it was a lie of course but you didn’t want to worry him or Steve, if it wasn’t obvious, they could be a little dramatic when it came to your welfare. Not that it wasn’t appreciated, but it was only food shopping and a meal then tomorrow, you could all stay in bed if that was what you wanted.

“You’re a bad liar”, he remarked, tilting your face up, capturing your lips in a tender kiss that had you momentarily forgetting about the pain, until a burning hot pain sparked through your head. It almost took your breath away more than the kiss, so much so you had to pull back and take a deep breath, in through your nose and out through your mouth, you could do this.

“Come on Buckaroo, let’s get going”. Bucky didn’t say another word but kept his cool metal hand around yours, leading back to the car where Steve was waiting in the back. Bucky held the door open for you and then climbed into the passenger seat, next to Sam who was driving.

“Everything ok?” Steve asked you softly as you fastened your seat belt, his hand resting against your thigh which was only an invitation for you to cuddle into his muscular arm, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Yeah”, you responded softly, trying to keep your composure and not flinch as dizziness rocked your body as the car began to drive.

Bucky shifted in his seat before turning, offering you a bottle of water and some pain relief. Offering your thanks, you swallowed the pills with half of the bottle of water, hoping it would also settle the nauseous sensation in your stomach. Leaning back into Steve’s arm, he turned to kiss your temple.

“Where to Boss?” Sam asked Steve.

“Home please, Wilson”.

“Wait no, Sam could you please take us to the store, we still need to go shopping, remember?”

Your eyes flicked between Steve and Sam as the latter looked back at Steve in the rear-view mirror, waiting for confirmation. “Baby, let’s just go home, you need to get some rest”.

Rolling your eyes, you tried to play it off, “I’m fine, and we need to go today we have absolutely nothing in the cupboard, it won’t take us long”. The last part of your sentence was more a hope for you and even though you’d love nothing more than to go home if you didn’t go food shopping today then you’d be forced to go tomorrow and there was no way you were leaving the house tomorrow.

Steve didn’t say anything, only nodded at Sam for him to continue to the shop, the hand against your thigh squeezed but you weren’t paying attention, closing your eyes to stop the nauseous sensation.

It didn’t take long to get to the store and once inside, you gave Bucky the duty of drink refills and Steve fresh fruit and vegetables whilst you’d go to the tin aisle and load up the shopping cart there.

Whilst walking up the second aisle, one of the worst cramps you’d ever experienced destroyed your insides. You could feel the contraction of your uterus, the pain so much that you had to double over and lean against the shelves, biting your lower lip to refrain from moaning in pain, aware that there were still other people shopping and didn’t want too many odd looks.

Trying to concentrate on your breathing, you’d squeezed your eyes so tight that now you were beginning to feel even dizzier, it was an endless cycle of pain.

A warm hand was suddenly easing under your head and shoulder, helping to turn your body until it was leaning into the much bigger and more comforting body of Bucky. You could smell his aftershave before he was even touching you. “Shh that’s it, lean into my body, I’ve got you. Keep taking those deep breaths, the pain will fade”. His words were softly whispered into your ear as he held his metal hand against the back of your head and the other massaged your lower back.

Even though you were hoping to keep up the strong exterior and play off that your period cramps were not as bad as they were, you could not deny the way Bucky and Steve treated you had the butterflies flying in your stomach.

Bucky was right, the pain did begin to fade to a dull ache that left you feeling uncomfortable but able to stand back up and resume shopping. “Sor-” you began but your boyfriend was quick to cut off your words.

“Don’t apologise, never apologise to me”, his sincerity was pulling at your heartstrings, and unsure why tears were suddenly springing to your eyes so you quickly looked to the floor to hide them.

“I hate being on my period, messing with my emotions, do you have to be so nice?” you tried to joke, causing Bucky to chuckle softly and kiss your temple once more, always so affectionate.

Another hand joined your spine, rubbing up and down as Steve stepped behind you, his breath fanning across your cheek as he gave you a quick peck before his spare hand lifted to capture the tears that were dripping down your cheeks.

“Go back to the car baby girl, we’ll finish this” Steve encouraged, keeping his voice low. With your position between the two mafia members, you’d momentarily forgotten that you were in the middle of a store, and not in a little private bubble but with the size of their bodies, you basically were.

Hastily wiping away the remaining tears, you tried to regain some energy, “no it’s ok, I can carry on and neither of you knows what we need to buy anyway”.

 Steve smirked down at you, “I’m sure we can manage and if we forget anything major, we’ll just send Sam to come and get it for us”.

“Are you sure-?”

“Yes! Now please go back to the car”, Bucky gave you a little nudge in the direction of the exit. You laughed at them both, they always managed to make you smile, even if it was for a brief second.

“Everything ok, boss lady?” Sam asked nicely as you climbed into the car as he sat waiting in it.

You were exhausted, lying across the back of the seats, automatically pulling your knees up to your chest like a ball, finding the position that helped most with the cramps, facing the back seat so Sam couldn’t see your face. “Yeah, just need a little break”.

It seemed your ordeal wasn’t over just yet as the next wave of cramps continued, and now in the comfort of the car, even with Sam, you couldn’t hold back gasps of agony.

Unaware of how much time had passed but soon the car was being filled with shopping bags and Steve was helping you to sit up, thumbs brushing away the tears that had begun to fall again. “Let’s get you home”, he nodded to Sam as you fell back into the same position as before, but instead of resting his hand on your thigh, he lifted your top, unbuttoning your jeans to give him access to your abdomen.

Steve and Bucky, as well as being able to eat the same amount as a small village, ran at unnatural temperatures so as his warm fingers began to massage to pained area, you couldn't help but release a relieved groan.

As you returned home, you felt completely drained, limping to the toilet to try and feel refreshed as the boys emptied the car of the groceries which you were thankful for, even going as far as to empty the bags.

It was Steve’s turn to stand guard outside the toilet but unlike Bucky, he didn’t wait for you to be in there for a specific amount of time before knocking. “Can I come in?”

“I don’t think you want to see this right now”, you shouted softly to him, cleaning yourself up quickly before flushing the toilet. After washing your hands and splashing some more cool water onto your face, you exited the toilet to find him smiling kindly down at you, waiting patiently.

“You know I don’t care about those kinds of things”, he reminded you, holding out a hand for you to hold.

You accepted it, loving the feeling of his rough large fingers compared to yours as he slowly pulled you in the direction of the couch in the living room. “Yes I know that but it’s particularly bad today” you referred to your heavy flow. Neither Steve nor Bucky was at all phased by your period, reminding you on countless occasions that they are surrounded by blood a lot for their job and this was different, it was you, it was natural and all they wanted to do was help you.

“Again, I don’t care, honey”, he gently eased the two of you down, making sure that your legs were thrown over his two muscular thighs, head on his shoulder so that he could rest his cheek against you, his facial hair tickling your forehead slightly. Not that you cared as his arms encircled you, one supporting around your back, keeping your body against his, and the other rested on your abdomen again, continuing with the massaging.

Groaning with relief, your face nuzzled into him closer, hand gripping his crisp white shirt, creasing it slightly but neither of you cared. “That feels so good”, you praised him.

“Close your eyes, get some rest”.

This was exactly what you then proceeded to do. Only taking a matter of seconds of being in his heated embrace to fall into a deep sleep. A few hours later you naturally awoke, finding Steve with his eyes closed, for a second you’d suspected he had also fallen asleep but his fingers were still massaging away at your abdomen, even after all this time, surprised that he hadn’t got a hand cramp yet.

Kissing his chin to show that you were awake, your fingers gripped around the arm supporting your body, lifting to look at the time on his watch, seeing that it was nearly the evening.

Pushing on his arm, you attempted to stand but were stopped by his grip tightening, keeping you in his lap. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to get changed, we’re leaving soon”, your voice cracked from having just woken up, fingers brushing your eyes to wipe some of the tiredness away.

“That’s not happening anymore”, he casually remarked, undoing his top button.

“What do you mean it’s not happening? It needs to happen, Johann made it very clear earlier that this needed to happen.”

Steve casually shrugged his shoulders, “I’ll deal with it, now relax, I was comfortable”.

You were dumbfounded by his confidence, your anxiety couldn’t cope when he was like this, it was much easier to just go for this meal than to try and sweet talk Johann around again. Trying and failing again to stand, you released a heavy sigh. “Steve please, I’ll be fine, it won’t take us long”.

It was at this time that Bucky returned, a towel around his neck and nothing on but his sneakers and a pair of training shorts, having come from the gym in the basement. You couldn’t help but look over his toned abs, littered with contrasting scars from his time in the Rogers mafia. “How are you feeling now?” He asked, taking a seat in the chair next to the couch.

“Better thank you. Can you tell him that we need to start getting ready soon? He’s come up with the disastrous plan to cancel dinner with Johann”.

Bucky sat back casually, the muscles in his abs flexing slightly, once again drawing your attention before you looked back into his smug blue eyes. “Firstly, I can’t tell the boss to do anything and you know that and secondly, I’ve already sent the message to cancel, so no changing it now”.

You moved around on Steve’s lap so that you could properly face the blonde who was watching you with casual arrogance knowing he had got his way or no way at all. “Why would you do that?”

“You know why I did that”, his voice remained calm as his eyes searched your face so you sat further back onto his knees and that’s when you felt it, something hadn’t felt right since waking up and this was it.

Glancing down, you noticed a dark patch on his navy dress trousers from where you’d been sitting. In your rush to leave the bathroom, you must have placed the pad in at the wrong angle on your underwear, and now you’d leaked onto your boyfriend's lap. Steve looked down, his face remaining the same, calm and confident.

“It’s ok”, his hands lifted to stroke your upper arms but you brushed them off. Your entire body seemed to heat up as the embarrassment set in.

“I’m..I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“I know you didn’t baby, it’s fine”, his casualness about the situation didn’t help your panic as you pushed off of his chest to stand, knees wobbling slightly as the inkling of another wave of cramps threatened to start from the sudden movement.

“Be careful mama, it’s ok-”, Bucky tried to reach for you now but you were so embarrassed, needing to get away from both of them for a minute, racing up the stairs as your heart pounding in your chest. Finally getting to the master bedroom, you were able to lock yourself in the ensuite toilet, taking off your now blood-stained jeans and underwear, cursing again at mother nature for letting her add to the list of bad things that had happened that day.

Now you were in the bathroom, you weren’t sure what to do with yourself. You didn’t have a change of clothes and you couldn’t go back out there because, by the sounds of it, both men had followed you up the stairs and probably getting changed. Your cheeks burst with heat at the thought of Steve’s ruined trousers.

Maybe you could take a bath or a shower, which sometimes helped with the pain but you weren’t able to decide as your uterus contracted with another cramp and it was probably the worst one yet. A deep groan slipped from your lips as you doubled over, leaning your forehead against the countertop, knees straining to keep you from collapsing to the floor and crawling into a ball.

The door handle turned as you made the pained noise, but seeing as you had locked the door, it didn’t open and therefore was swiftly followed by a knock. “If you don’t open this door right now, I’m breaking it down.”

Rolling your eyes at the possessive tone in Steve’s voice, you hobbled over to the bathroom door, clicked the lock and walked back to face your shame, standing in nothing but your shirt and bra.

What you hadn’t anticipated was Steve walking over the threshold and within one step was cupping your jaw, tilting your head back and kissing you fiercely enough that it took your breath away. It took a moment of shock to wear off before your hands gripped onto his wrists, holding him close, kissing him back with as much passion. Even trying to reach onto your tip toes to get closer.

Steve was quick to discard your shirt and bra, so fast you hadn’t even realised he was undoing the buttons until the cool air coated your skin. Pulling back from the kiss as his tongue teased, you pushed against his chest, “Steve wait-”

The mafia boss did not wait. No, he had his own idea in mind as his mouth was back onto yours, body pushing back until your lower back found the cool countertop behind. In another second, his hands were gripping the back of your thighs, lifting you until your bare arse was sitting on the side.

This truly snapped you out of the lust-filled trance he had captured you within. Pushing once more against his chest, your face dropped down so he couldn’t distract you with his devilish tongue. “Steve stop, I’m not wearing any underwear, I need to put a pad on or something.”

It wasn’t Steve who responded but Bucky who was watching at the door, now in a pair of joggers and an old t-shirt, casually leaning against the door frame. He was chuckling as he admired your body. “When are you going to get it Doll, we really and I mean, REALLY, don’t care about that stuff”.

Steve moved his seduction tour to your neck, leaving open-mouth kisses sending shivers through your spine as he inched his way up to the shell of your ear. “What am I going to have to do to make you understand that I don’t care about a little bit of blood, my love”.

You glanced down at the patch on his trousers, biting your lip before reminding him, “but I’ve ruined your trousers, and you’ve had to cancel the dinner because of me”.

Steve finally leaned back, resting his weight on his arms on either side of your thighs as his own blue eyes flicked between yours. “I’ve cancelled the dinner today because you’re in pain and I’m not going to force you to dress up in clothes that won’t make you feel comfortable or leave the comfort of your own home just for a fucking meal with Johann Schmidt. My trousers, they’re replaceable, they don’t mean shit to me, but you know what does? You. So please explain to me what I need to do for you to get into that beautiful brain of yours, what I can do to show that I really couldn’t give a shit about a little bit of blood”.

He always knew the right things to say, enough that you had to once again hide your face to hide the tears.

Your boyfriend had other ideas however as his hand teased up the sensitive part of your inner thighs. You knew his intended destination and reached out quickly to grip his wrist, stopping him, looking up with wide eyes, his words already forgotten about.

“Steve wait, I’m bleeding-”

He tilted his head in a knowing look, pushing easily against your grip until his fingers delved into your folds, brushing against your clit. You gasped, bodily jolting slightly. Steve lifted his other hand, wrapping it around your throat, pushing back until your body rested against the wall-length mirror.

“What did I say? I don’t care about a little bit of blood, now. Open”.

His tone went straight to your core, he rarely ordered things from you as your submissive tendencies meant you were rushing to do them anyway but with your anxiety holding you back, he decided to use his authority which instantly sent you into a horny mess.

“Yes sir”, you responded a moment later, trying to ignore the pounding of your heart that he undoubtedly felt beneath his fingertips at your throat, as you opened your legs wider to him, giving him better access.

“Good girl”, the praise was like music to your ears as you were forced to watch his face as his fingers began slipping further down until at your entrance, not wasting any time to slip two fingers in. You moaned loudly, swapping to hold onto the wrist that was holding your neck, not choking, just making sure you didn’t look away from him. His movements were slow, inching in and out, making sure not to hurt you.

You had to admit, that it felt odd, knowing that the wetness that could be felt wasn’t your normal juices but in face period blood and with the cramping, it wasn’t the most comfortable but as his fingers began to curl, increasing your pleasure, the pain reduced.

“Listen to me closely”, he continued. “You are going to watch as I fuck you with my fingers until you’re cumming. Then as I’m fucking you, Bucky over there is going to heat the shower and all three of us are getting in and he can then decide what he’d like to do with you there, do you understand?”

Your cunt was clenching violently around his fingers at his demands, of which every single one you wanted, too lost in the thought of his fingers curling into that beautiful spot within. “Yes sir!”

“That’s my girl”, he praised with a small smile now etched on his face as his thumb began stroking gently against your eagerly awaiting clit. There was now only a jumble of moans and mewls leaving your mouth now as your hips began rolling against his hand, chasing your high. As stated before, with each passing minute, as the pleasure increased, all the cramping began to cease until it was a recent memory.

“Open a little wider baby,” he encouraged and your legs spread automatically giving him more room to add a third finger. Your eyes dropped to his wrist, the sight scaring you for a minute as a dribble of blood was nearly the white sleeve of his shirt but with a quick squeeze to your throat, you glanced up as he leaned closer, his breath tickling your face. “I. Don’t. Care.”

“Fuck!” you cursed, riding his hand harder, gripping his wrist tighter, inching closer and closer to your orgasm. The addition of his third finger made your walls stretch to their limit, feeling full of his long, thick fingers and his thumb pressed harder.

You were about to open your mouth and ask if you could cum but Steve could already feel the tightening grip of your cunt, “cum for me, that’s it, good girl”.

Steve’s praises were always the most perfect sounding words from his gruff voice and your orgasm was suddenly pulsing through your entire body. If it wasn’t for his grip around your throat, you were sure you’d fall into his chest but he held you there firmly, not restricting your airways but just having control over your body.

He didn’t waste a second, using his blood-soaked hands to undo his belt and zipper, easing his cock out and then dragging your hips towards the edge of the countertop. Lifting your legs to rest on his hips, Steve’s cock pulsed as he eased it between your slit, breathing your entrance slowly.

“Please, please daddy!” you gasped out, losing all sense of control, needing to feel him now. Steve chuckled at the nickname, knowing your horniness was bringing out your submissiveness. To treat you well, he pushed his cock into your cunt in one quick thrust, causing your body to jolt to the side.

He held that position and in the background, you could just make out the sound of the shower being turned on by Bucky. Not that you were focused on that right now as Steve adjusted his position. With his red-stained hand, he gripped your hip in place whilst the other hand still held onto your throat, his mouth dipping so he could wrap his lips around your left nipple, sucking it fiercely into his mouth, biting on it gently before releasing.

At the same time, he began to ease his cock out of you, nice and slowly so that your walls dragged around him before slapping back in again. Steve teased both of your nipples, licking around the areola before sucking them back into his mouth.

Your entire body was alight with warmth and pleasure, every thrust was powerful and breathtaking and his wicked tongue had you almost seeing stars with how hard it was making your cunt clench.

“You’re doing so good for me baby” Steve complimented as he swapped breasts, the nipples now being slightly puffy from being sucked on. “Seeing you this desperate, I don’t think I’m going to last very long”, he admitted, but you didn’t care, you were already sensing the change in your body as the tautness in your abdomen increased.

Steve did too and released your nipple, only to kiss you fiercely, it was mostly tongue and teeth, trying to dominate your mouth leaving you even more breathless and dizzy. Just as you were able to orgasm, your hand gripped around the bigger hand holding your neck, squeezing it slightly and he understood the message.

His fingers gripped ever so slightly harder, making it a little bit more difficult to breathe, just as you came hard. Your walls clamped down around his cock so strongly that he too came, surprising himself as he shouted your name, hunching over your body and releasing your throat just as the waves began to calm down. You sucked in the air greedily, body almost completely limp from being fucked so hard and being in the same position for so long.

Your eyes felt heavy as Steve kissed along your throat where his fingers had been, softly caressing the area, distracting you from his cock slipping out of your sensitive entrance. Risking a glance down, it was a mess, where his hands had been were red hand prints and his clothes were ruined but at that moment, you couldn’t care at all.

Steve stood back, catching your eye, “I love you”, he whispered, sweetly kissing your lips delicately, almost like he was scared to hurt you even though he’d just been fucking the life out of you.

“I love you too” you responded softly, tiredness evident in your tone.

Steve finally moved away, unbuttoning his ruined shirt which allowed Bucky to take his place, now standing completely naked, his cock proudly hard between his legs. Gently, he lifted both of your legs around his waist, locking your ankles before moving your arms around his neck, his metal arm easing beneath your arse and his flesh arm around your back as he lifted you.

“Feel like another round?” Bucky’s jokingly asked with a soft smile, kissing your cheek and you mewled in response, trying to slip further down his body so that his tip bumped into your cunt. “Hold on, mama”, and with that, he gently eased his veined cock into your warm pussy, before walking into the warm shower that had you melting into his embrace.

The two of you stood there for a couple of minutes, he didn’t thrust, knowing that’s not what you needed right now, just letting you feel full up at the warmth from the water to ease your used muscles, it was perfect.

“Want you”, your voice oozed desperation as you lazily kissed up his neck, clenching slightly around his member as your arousal began to peak, needing to feel the drag of his cock..

“I want you to but I think someone tired you out”. You groaned, frowning at his words but putting no effort into moving, feeling too lazy and fucked out of your mind so decided on a different tactic.

“But I’d feel so much better if you fucked me too”.

Bucky laughed as Steve joined the two of you in the shower, luckily it was purposefully built so that the overhead shower covered all three of you.

“Are you trying to manipulate me into fucking you, sweet mama?” Bucky asked against your shoulder.

Smiling against his skin, you tried to act nonchalant, “no I’d never do that”.

As you finished your sentence, your back eased against the shower wall as Bucky held you there, readjusting his arms slightly to grip your hips, his face now hovering over yours, a cheeky smile gracing his lips. “Yeah, I’m sure you would never do that”, he sarcastically responded as he began to roll his hips, thrusting his cock very slowly in and out of you.

Once again, these men knew you so well, thankful for the slow speed as your cunt constricted harshly around him with how sensitive it was. It felt so good as he took his time, holding you close, every part of your body touching his as Steve washed behind him, smiling at the sound of your desperate noises.

“Is this what you wanted?” Bucky asked, his mouth hovering over yours.

“Yes sir, you feel so good”.

Bucky kept up those long slow paces for a while, Steve even began to grow hard again and found himself wanking off watching the two of you. Every thrust of Bucky’s cock had a pathetic mewl or moan escaping you, it was perfect as you held desperately to his shoulders, lazily kissing him until the sensation changed.

“I need to cum sir” you quickly breathed out but Bucky had other plans.

“Not just yet mama, you’ve got to hold it for me”. Your eyes filled with panic, looking at his as your brow furrowed, mouth gaping open.

“I- I can’t”.

“Yes you can, you’re a good girl and only good girls cum when they’re supposed to, just a little bit longer”. You could have cried as you gripped harder to his muscles, probably painfully so but he never said anything, just continued with the same slow fucking. You tried to relax your muscles and distract yourself from him but his cock was hitting all the right spots and it didn’t help matters when Steve suddenly grunted from behind Bucky as he came,  his cum spurting out and into the water.

“Please!” you had to plead now, closing your eyes as the feeling of orgasm was so overwhelming.

Bucky grunted loudly and you could feel his cock pumping inside of you as he finally agreed, “yes, cum for me!” and at the same time snapped his hips hard into you. Your whole body went rigid, cunt uncontrollably pulsing around him in waves of utter perfection.

It took a couple of seconds to calm down, Bucky’s half-limp dick sliding out and a gush of Steve and Bucky’s cum followed, now tainted pink by your period but you definitely didn’t care anymore.

Thankfully, Bucky wasn’t just ready to put you down but you would have most likely just sat on the floor, not trusting that your legs were strong enough to hold your weight. So both Ssteve and Bucky helped to wash your body with soap, being careful of the sensitive area between your legs before turning off the water and stepping out.

Whilst Bucky and you were first in the shower, Steve had cleaned up the mess on the countertop and had prepared a fresh pad, underwear and pyjamas for you to get into afterwards. As the three of you climbed into bed, you could honestly say you’d never felt this cosy before on your period.

Laying your head against Bucky’s chest, Steve sat beside you and scrolled through his phone, reading to order some takeout. The second-in-command kissed along your hairline, his fingers locking with yours as he asked, “how's the pain now?”

“It still aches but it’s a lot better than it was, thank you”.

Steve leaned over and kissed the back of your shoulder, “good, I think we should make this a monthly occasion”.

Your used cunt clenched at that thought and you had to bite your lip from moaning, taking a deep breath before turning to look at him, “me too”.

[therandompagesblog]

SKZ Mate Chapter 22

Warnings: None

The smell of sex, slick and pheromones engulfed the house. Every corner of the bottom floor reeked of the female wolf's orgasm. The once homely smell of burnt wood and cinnamon ceased to exist. The smell nearly knocked the wolves out of the house as soon as they opened the door. They didn't expect the stench. The poor betas, Changbin and Jisung covered their faces in distress. They had never smelt something like it while the older alpha had. Hyunjin smacked the back of the beta's head scolding them while Jeongin had more of a concern for the welfare of the female wolf. He wasn't fully exposed to such smells that he could not decipher between the smell of pleasure or pain. Jeongin wanted to make sure she was alright and he didn't want to startle her if she was in a heat so he called out for Felix and Seungmin who were present somewhere in the house. "What happened?" Jeongin gasped as he watched the two wolves emerge. Felix looked entirely dishevelled and bruised. His hair was completely matted and his face had red marks from when the female grabbed him. Seungmin didn't look any better as his hair too was all over the place and his shirt had been ripped. There were even some scratch marks on him

The beta looked at each other tiredly before looking back at the newcomers who had no idea what was going on. "We don't think Y/N was going into heat." Felix breathed out as he pointed, his head trying to understand for the last four hours what happened. "It might be hormones. She was feeling needy." Felix answered while the dazed wolf looked around. "Are you sure? Is she alright?" Jeongin asked. "She's not in heat. The smell is still normal, Y/N radiates a slightly different smell when she's in heat." Hyunjin explained causing Felix and Seungmin to glare. "So you're telling me she's feral. Normally feral." Seungmin stated, his eyes narrowing on the alpha. "Yes. Sometimes if she's comfortable with you she will get excited." Hyunjin stated causing the two tired betas to shiver. "It was your fault in the first place. You riled her up." Felix chided but Seungmin shook his head and walked to get a glass of water while the two other betas stood confused in the hallway, not wanting to go in and be attacked by her scent.

Jeongin still wasn't sure as he smelled around, the kitchen before coming to the slick-stained counter that had been covered with t-shirts and towels. Jeongin hesitantly took the towel off to see her thick silky slick stained with splotches of blood. Hyunjin was to confused at the trickles of blood. "What is this?" Hyunjin asked as he watched Seungmin swallow nervously. "I bit her a little," Seungmin whispered. "Is she alright? Answer me." Jeongin demanded, he needed to know how his mate was. He was still not quite understanding what was going on. "She's fine Jeongin. She's asleep. She was such a needy wolf. She wouldn't stop she kept begging for us to fuck her. She kept saying knot, over and over again." Felix whined as he thought back to the desperate wolf trying to pull his boxers down. "Maybe she needs to be claimed because the bond hasn't been solidified." Jeongin wondered. Hyunjin agreed with him, she's becoming restless she feels rejected and not fully satisfied. It was an awkward predicament, her body was still healing and they didn't know how much damage Felix and Seungmin had done to her, not only that Chan's past had resurfaced. "We will have to keep pleasing her for another six weeks until her body is healed," Hyunjin stated. "Not only that. If it never heals it may do more damage than good and then she'll never have sex again or she will never enjoy it. And then she'll never have pups. She might not want kids but you never know. Aish, why did you have to be so rough with her." Jeongin fretted, his alpha instincts kicking in as he thought about his wounded mate. Hyunjin awkwardly rested a hand on Jeongin's shoulder, letting him know it was alright. Jeongin relaxed under Hyunjin before ordering the wolves to help clear up. He didn't want Minho to come into his kitchen a state and he didn't want Y/N to feel embarrassed, that was the most important thing for him. Jeongin wanted her to know it was completely alright so he sent Jisung and Changbin out to get some flowers and snacks.

Hyunjin and Jeongin had spent the next twenty-five minutes using bleach in the kitchen to try and get her sent out, making a wolf come in and do a sniff test. It wasn't that they felt disgusted by it, it was the fact it was a kitchen where Minho cooked food and Minho was quite particular about his kitchen. It was going so well until Jisung came back and said it had dulled, but Minho returned with a frown as he glared at his kitchen. "What happened?" Minho asked so the alphas explained it to him. They were half expecting the elder to get angry but he didn't. Minho was actually more concerned about her being alright and started cooking, knowing the two useless betas forgot. Hyunjin and Jeongin stared at one another in shock as they watched a worried Minho pull the shopping bags in ready to cook for her. "If I would have known he was going to react like this. I would have left this." Jeongin whispered to Hyunjin who nodded and slowly backed out of the kitchen. "Nuh uh little alphas. Clean this up." Minho stated with a glare as the younger alphas crossed their arms at the beta's sudden demands about to make a rhetoric when they smelled their omega walk through the door. "Y/N are you alright? I'm making something light for you. Do you need some painkillers or anything?" Minho fussed worriedly. "Uh. No. I'm sorry Minho. I didn't mean to make everyone uncomfortable. Does it smell bad?" Y/N asked nervously as she hid herself in Felix's jumper. The three wolves shook their head quickly telling her there was no problem. Jeongin ushered her to the stool on the island nearly knocking Hyunjin out of the way while Hyunjin scrambled to the kitchen to get some juice. "Here, I'll get you some painkillers," Hyunjin stated with a soft smile before heading up the stairs while Jeongin rubbed up her arms as he stressed Minho into hurrying up with his cooking.

Y/N was grateful but still looked around nervously as the wolves fussed and cleaned. It did make her a little bit insecure but she said nothing about it. Jeongin noticed that and hugged her softly before watching her eat. He wanted to be cute and feed her but remembered what she said about Seonghwa. Jeongin in no way wanted to dehumanise her, only wanting to be romantic, but he stopped himself. Y/N noticed something but said nothing as she watched him. "What has happened? Little wolf?" A tired and exhausted Chan stumbled in the door causing the wolves to gasp. Y/N stopped eating and ran up to him, pulling at his face as she searched for his eyes. "I'm sorry. I was with my younger brother. I didn't mean to turn my phone off." Chan stressed as he allowed his omega to embrace him. Chan pressed his nose into her neck where her mated mark was. "Chan, what the fuck happened?" Minho stressed. "My sister got into trouble with another. The X wolves. Apparently they've made a deal with Hongjoong. I'm sorry guys. I've been trying to save my sister while protecting Y/N but my brother sent me away." Chan admitted tiredly. The wolves understood what Chan was trying to explain. Hongjoong was reaching out for alibis and he was targeting Chan's family who still didn't trust him, not after his older brother was killed. "Fuck." Changbin screamed. "We need to do something." "We have a plan." Jeongin blurted out as he looked at Minho who nodded. Chan brought his head up, wrapping his arms around Y/N's waist as he looked at his two wolves.

Minho took a deep breath and looked at all of them. "Me and Jeongin have been working on a plan since Y/N arrived. We knew it would cause a war so we went behind your back." "We didn't want to tell you because we wanted you to embrace having an omega. We know how much you yearned for her and we couldn't tell you to think of a war so me and hyung took it upon ourselves to make connections." Jeongin interrupted as he looked at Minho. "Minho is an elder of the werewolf council so he has some old friends who said they would look into our case. They fully believe Hongjoong is a criminal but the idea of stealing a wolf's mate is going to be a hard case to push. They need a lot of proof rather than speculation unless we can trial a case on Hongjoong using dark magic." "Y/N even offered some help about his dark spiritual circle around the house which encapsulates werewolf spirits, so there are a lot of options for taking him down but proving he stole Y/N, is hard one to prove," Minho added. Chan took in their words and listened to them. He couldn't believe the wolves went behind his back to help him and even tried to build a solid case. "Thank you. Minho. Jeongin. I shouldn't have questioned you so much for your lack of attention to Y/N. You did more than what I thought." Chan's gratitude made them nod. "When will we know? Is there any more we need to do?" "For now no. They have all that they need. They said to give them up to two weeks because they are at the stage of questioning Hongjoong." Minho explained. "Questioning?" Hyunjin queried. "They can't accuse him without hearing his side. They also have to investigate him fully." Minho stressed. "Yeah well, what if it backfires?" Changbin asked. "What?" Minho said. "Felix killed San. They could throw it back on us that we attacked his pack and stole Y/N." Changbin's comment worried them. None of them had thought about the possibility of them being taken down in reverse and by the looks of Minho's worried face told them they might not have enough on Hongjoong.

Taglist for the iconic readers:

@galaxy4489 @mbioooo0000 @jisungs-iced-americano @maybeimmia @hwangrfrnd@wolfo2027 @kayleefriedchicken @leamueller920 @borahae-reads @jennibahng @cookiesandcreammy @leezanetheofficial @jutdwae-flower @danceonmyheyday @jc003 @hpnsfwaddict @linocz @itzreetal987 @skzdreamer13 @reallychaoticwoo @liv1sworld @upsidedownchaire @jutdwae-flower @danceonmyheyday @jc003 @hpnsfwaddict @skzdreamer13 @reallychaoticwoo @ihttinniee @kingdomofpentagon @pixie0627 @tsunderelino @notevenheretbh1 @catlove83 @h0rnyp0t @hash2013 @hyunmikim

[handweavers]

"‘Trans man’ remains the preferred identity for Malaysian individuals who were Assigned female at birth but live their adult lives as men. The jettison-ing of pondan, pak nyah, wanita keras, tomboy and pengkid in favour of ‘trans man’ likely serves as a ratification of personal-communal empowerment and a repudiation of derision. It is even more likely that ‘trans man’ reflects a deep-seated desire to imitate and participate in ‘collective identifcation’, notably that which is cultivated in North American (and European) contexts, ‘in order to demand rights, equal citizenship, and welfare’ among other goals in Malaysia. This is hardly surprising. Technological advances facilitate unprecedented accessibility to copious resources on transgender issues and imagine a global transgender community in borderless solidarity. Travis S. K. Kong points out however, that ‘globalization is an uneven process that reproduces spatially uneven development, and the flow of capital, commodities, people, images, and ideas is never equal among locations’.

The Malaysian trans man thus experiences unequal and unstable access to the bounty of globalisation due to local limitations in education, economic means, social and cultural capital, class, ethnicity, religious affliation, educational levels, infrastructure and health services. He continues to be experience ‘disjunctive modernities’ which exhibit ‘irreducible plurality and local specifcity’, thus dispelling the myth of trans(national) homogeneity in transgender identity. The trans men I interviewed interpret their life stories through the rubric of local contexts that dispel any suspicion of a mere mimicry of western-styled transgender identities. Malaysian re/mouldings of ‘trans man’ speak to ‘experiences of multiplicity in gender identifcation … embedded within specifc social, cultural, and interpersonal contexts [that] create altogether new, emergent forms of experience and identity'."

— J. N. Goh, Becoming a Malaysian Trans Man

[star-anise]

The thing about "parents' rights" and "protect the children [from hearing that other ways of life than ours are possible and okay]" is that it is literally, in the purest sense of the word, patriarchy.

The word literally means "rule by the fathers". We're generally used to hearing it describe how adult women can be dominated by adult men. However, that's not where patriarchy ends; feminists have been less eager to address how within that system, women can exercise power and domination of their own through the traditional gender roles of motherhood. Their maternal rights to power and dominance may have traditionally been lesser than paternal ones, but they were never less than their minor children's. Even single-mother or female-only families can be, in this sense, patriarchal.

Patriarchal families are a complex system that grants parents complete legal and practical control over nearly every aspect of their children's lives. The patriarchal family controls where the child lives, who takes care of them, what rules they have to follow, how they are educated, who they associate with, what healthcare they receive, what religion they practice, and whether they can work or control any money they earn or that is given to or for them.

Normally discussions of patriarchy are a lot more abstract. But right now it's very concrete and real: we are fighting to limit the family's control over children on issues where we can observe that families sometimes tend to make decisions that are bad for the children's welfare or that disrespect their human rights.

Whether a minor child can get an abortion. Whether they can receive gender-affirming care. Whether it's okay to lie or coerce your child to ensure they follow your religion. Whether they deserve to be educated about factual histories or scientific theories that are necessary to understanding the world around them. Whether they deserve to learn accurate, age-appropriate information about consent, setting boundaries, how their bodies and the bodies of other people work, what a normal range of gender and sexual identities look like, what healthy or unhealthy relationships look like, and what sex is, how it works, what its positives and negatives are, and how they might navigate the world, whether or not they ever want to have it.

Hell, on some levels we're still arguing about whether it's okay to hit your kids, or whether children have the right, similar to the rights adults have, not to be assaulted or abused.

Because there are a LOT of people who say: No. Parents should have 100% control over any or all of those issues. If the parent says no, the child is not allowed to do or have any of those things, and nobody else should be allowed to interfere and provide them to the child without their parents' consent.

Pointing this out often results in parents saying, "Oh, so you want just ANYONE to be able to go up and talk sex with kids? You want kids to be able to decide to jump off cliffs with nobody stopping them???" As though parents are the single protective force in the universe, the only thing standing between their child and the ravages of absolute chaos.

On the contrary: most of the time the argument is for children to receive care and guidance from adults who are monitored to ensure they treat children in safe and appropriate ways, who have spent many years studying the best and most rigorously tested of our collective understanding of how to prepare children for happy, healthy lives.

And we are arguing against people who believe that the only important qualification needed to refuse children that kind of care is to be ranked above them in their family hierarchy.

In conclusion...

Fuck the patriarchy. Children have human rights too.

[coochiequeens]

This should not have taken so long

Trans women who have hurt or threatened women or girls will not be held in female prisons unless there are "exceptional" circumstances, new guidance states.

The Scottish Prison Service (SPS) policy follows a public outcry after a rapist was sent to a women's prison.

Isla Bryson raped two women while known as Adam Graham.

The Scottish Conservatives said the new policy was "subjective" and "unacceptable".

The latest figures show there were 23 trans prisoners in Scotland from January to March this year.

They included 19 trans women, seven of whom were in a women's prison, and four trans men - one of whom was in a male prison.

Under previous guidance drawn up in 2014, the prison service allowed prisoners to be placed in facilities matching their gender identity, rather than their sex at birth, providing accommodation that "best suits the person in custody's needs".

This was reviewed and in February, following the Bryson case, it was updated to say no newly convicted or remanded transgender prisoner with a history of violence against women would be housed in female prison facilities.

Under the new policy - which will come into force in February 2024 - a trans woman would not be allowed to move into the female estate if they had been convicted of, or were on remand awaiting trial for, a crime that harmed a female - unless there was "compelling evidence that they did not present an unacceptable risk of harm to those in the women's prison".

These offences include any that result in suffering to a female, such as sexual offences, murder, assault, abduction and intimidation.

Those who have changed their legal gender can also be housed in accordance with their sex at birth, "if it is considered necessary to support people's safety and wellbeing".

The policy states: "Only when staff have enough information to reach a decision that a trans individual can be safely accommodated will they be placed in an establishment which matches their affirmed gender."

Trans men will be admitted to the female estate, but those who have committed crimes against women may be kept separate from other prisoners if it is "deemed necessary" to "keep women in custody safe".

The new guidelines also allow officers to search inmates regardless of the inmate's "affirmed gender" or sex assigned at birth, "if it is necessary to keep the individual or staff safe".

Risks carefully managed'

Teresa Medhurst, chief executive of the Scottish Prison Service, said if a trans woman's offences were historic and low level, they could be moved to the female estate, but she stressed that would be exceptional.

She said all prisoners were "treated with dignity and respect, with their rights upheld, and any risks carefully managed".

"The position, whilst it is still individualised, will ensure that those that have a history of violence against women and girls and present a risk to women will no longer be placed on admission in the women's estate.

"I am content that everyone who is a transgender individual is located in the prison which best suits their risk and needs profile."

She added that she was confident the new policy would address public concerns surrounding trans prisoners.

The Scottish government's Justice Secretary Angela Constance said the new policy protected the "safety and welfare" of staff and prisoners, and the "rights of transgender people".

She said: "SPS has considerable expertise, as well as a duty of care for the management of people in their custody, and this policy upholds its responsibilities to deliver safe, secure and suitable services for all."

Scottish Conservative justice spokesman Russell Findlay MSP said the new prison policy was "unacceptable" and put women at "even greater risk by further eroding their fundamental right to single-sex space".

"They say that male prisoners with a history of violence against women or girls should be allowed in the female estate and will only be blocked if they present a risk, which is completely subjective."

Lucy Hunter Blackman, from policy analysts Murray Blackburn Mackenzie, said any new policy in Scotland should not "talk narrowly about the potential risk of a physical or sexual assault".

She added: "It needs to recognise how the presence of someone male might impact upon group of vulnerable traumatised women, held in spaces from which they cannot escape."

[niallerspayno]

With You Always (Zayn Malik x reader) - Fic Request

Anonymous request: My idea is Zayn Malik x reader (female/gender neutral) , where the reader is an equestrian (aka horse back rider) and she ends up taking a bad fall off her horse and need to go to hospital. Like how would Zayn react to that whole situation, and then maybe reader makes him lay down to hold her on the hospital bed after getting fixed up?

Masterlist

You’ve always known that horses were more than just animals. They were your escape, your partners in a world where the connection between rider and horse could feel almost magical. From the moment you were old enough to ride, you knew this would be your life. Raised by two trainers, you learned early on that success in equestrian sports came from a balance of hard work, trust, and, above all, a deep respect for the animals you worked with. As a professional horseback rider now, you’ve made a name for yourself in the industry, but the path hasn’t always been easy. Every day, you push yourself and your horses to new limits, striving for perfection, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Your world has always revolved around horses. But on one fateful evening, everything shifts.

The invitation arrives for a charity gala in support of animal welfare. At first, you’re hesitant to attend—another night away from the barn, another night of dressing up and mingling. You’d much rather be spending the evening in the stables, practicing with your horses. But a close friend convinces you that it’s for a good cause, and you eventually agree to go.

You expect the usual gala—polished people in suits, forced conversation, and a general sense of formality. But as you walk into the venue, something feels different. The music is soothing, a live band playing soft, acoustic tunes in the corner. You find yourself drawn to the melodies, allowing the rhythm to wash over you as you scan the room, taking in the familiar faces.

That’s when you see him.

Zayn.

He’s standing by a small group of people, but you can’t help but notice him. He doesn’t seem like the typical gala guest, the starched collar and stiff demeanor you’ve seen too often. Instead, Zayn is relaxed, his eyes thoughtful, his demeanor calm. He’s wearing a simple black shirt and jeans, effortlessly blending into the crowd while still managing to exude an undeniable presence. His attention is on the animals—there’s a small group of rescue dogs roaming the space, and Zayn is gently petting one, his focus completely on the animal, as if nothing else matters.

You’re not sure why, but something pulls you toward him. You approach hesitantly, struck by the soft smile he gives you when your eyes meet.

“Hey,” you say, almost shyly. “You’re into animals too, huh?”

Zayn’s smile widens, a warmth in his eyes that makes you feel instantly at ease. “Always have been,” he replies, his voice calm and inviting. “Animals are… well, they just get it, you know?”

You laugh softly, nodding. “I do. Horses are like that for me. They’ve always been the one constant in my life.”

The conversation flows easily from there, the two of you sharing stories about the animals you’ve loved and cared for over the years. You quickly discover that, like you, Zayn’s love for animals runs deep. While he’s not involved in the equestrian world, his passion for rescue work and animal welfare is unmistakable. He’s been involved in various animal rights initiatives and has an undeniable love for all creatures, big and small.

But there’s something else that catches your attention. It’s the music.

Zayn mentions offhand that he’s always found solace in music, too. You learn that he’s a musician—one of the most successful in the world, actually. He’s used music as a way to connect with people, to express emotions and experiences. You mention your love for music as well, your appreciation for the way it can evoke emotion, the way it can tie together moments in life.

“It’s funny,” he says, his voice growing more animated. “I’ve always thought animals and music share something. There’s this connection, like they both have their own rhythm.”

The spark between you is immediate. It’s a mix of shared passions—animals and music—that forms a bridge between your worlds. The way Zayn talks about his career and his art, his ability to see the deeper meaning in the things around him, resonates with you in a way you didn’t expect. The more you talk, the more you realize how much you have in common, how much you both understand the need for connection, whether through animals or through the universal language of music.

By the end of the night, there’s no doubt in your mind that something has shifted. You didn’t expect to meet anyone who would make you feel so seen, so understood. But with Zayn, there’s a quiet confidence in the way he listens, the way he speaks. There’s no pretension, no barriers, just a shared love for the things that matter most.

When the evening wraps up, Zayn asks for your number, and you give it to him without hesitation. As he walks away, you can’t help but smile to yourself, knowing that tonight was only the beginning of something unexpected—and possibly extraordinary.

...

The arena is alive with excitement. The rhythmic pounding of hooves against packed dirt, the hum of the crowd, and the crisp tang of morning air fill your senses. This competition is one of the most prestigious of the season, and you’ve worked tirelessly to be here. Every jump, every stride, every moment has been meticulously prepared for.

Zayn is in the stands, a quiet yet unwavering source of support. He’s come to several of your competitions now, but it still makes your heart flutter to see him there, even if he tries to blend in with his baseball cap and sunglasses. Earlier, he had kissed your forehead, his hand lingering on your cheek as he murmured, “You’re going to crush it out there. Just don’t forget to breathe.”

As you mount Thunder, your trusted partner and cherished horse, you feel that familiar rush of adrenaline. You pat his neck gently, whispering, “Just you and me, boy. We’ve got this.” The crowd fades away, the world narrowing to just you, Thunder, and the course ahead.

The first jumps are seamless. Thunder glides over each hurdle with precision, his power and grace unmatched. The crowd is electric, cheering louder with every successful leap. You catch a glimpse of Zayn in the stands as you round a corner—his body is tense, his hands clasped tightly in front of him, his eyes never leaving you. His belief in you is palpable, and it fuels your determination.

But as you approach the final, most challenging jump, disaster strikes.

Thunder’s stride falters at the last second, a miscalculation that sends both of you tumbling. The world spins as you’re thrown from the saddle, hitting the ground hard. The pain is immediate and excruciating, radiating from your side and leg, leaving you breathless. Your head slams against the dirt, and the metallic taste of blood fills your mouth.

A sharp cry escapes your lips as agony surges through your body. The crowd gasps in horror, the cheers turning into murmurs of alarm. Everything feels distant, muffled, as if you’re underwater. Thunder scrambles to his feet nearby, unharmed but clearly distressed.

Zayn is on his feet instantly, his heart dropping into his stomach as he watches you fall. He doesn’t think—he just moves, pushing through the crowd and vaulting over the barrier with an urgency he’s never felt before.

“(Y/N)!” he shouts, his voice breaking.

He’s at your side in seconds, dropping to his knees, his hands hovering as he takes in the sight of you—your face pale, your body trembling, and your leg twisted at an unnatural angle. His chest tightens at the sight of blood on your temple.

“Baby, I’m here,” he says, his voice steady despite the sheer panic flooding his system. “Don’t move, okay? Just stay with me.”

Your eyes flutter open, the pain almost too much to bear. “Zayn…” you whisper, tears streaming down your cheeks. “It hurts so much.”

“I know, love,” he says, his hand finding yours and gripping it tightly. “I know. You’re going to be okay. I promise.”

The medics rush onto the field, their voices urgent as they assess your injuries. A fractured femur, possible rib fractures, and a concussion—they’re rattling off words that make Zayn’s stomach churn. He refuses to let go of your hand, his presence an anchor in the storm of pain and fear.

“Sir, we need to move her,” one of the medics says firmly.

“I’m coming with her,” Zayn replies immediately, his voice brooking no argument.

As they lift you onto the stretcher, you cry out in pain, your grip on Zayn’s hand tightening. He leans down, his forehead brushing against yours. “I’m not leaving you,” he whispers fiercely. “Not for a second.”

...

The sterile white walls and fluorescent lights of the hospital blur as you’re rushed through the hallways. Every jolt of the gurney sends another wave of pain rippling through your body, and though the medics are speaking in calm, measured tones, their urgency is impossible to miss. You’re slipping in and out of consciousness, the world fading in flashes of light and muffled sound.

But Zayn never leaves your side.

He’s there, running alongside the gurney, his hand still clasped tightly in yours. His face is pale, his dark eyes wide with fear, but he keeps whispering reassurances, his voice steady and unwavering.

“You’re strong,” he says softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You’re going to get through this. Just hold on, love.”

When they wheel you into the trauma bay, a nurse gently tells him he has to wait outside. Zayn hesitates, his hand tightening around yours, as if letting go will mean losing you.

“Please,” he says, his voice cracking. “Take care of her.”

The nurse nods, her tone gentle but firm. “We will. I promise.”

He lets go, his fingers slipping from yours, and it feels like the ground is falling out from under him. Left alone in the hallway, he paces back and forth, running a hand through his hair as he tries to steady his racing thoughts. Every second feels like an eternity, the worst-case scenarios playing on an endless loop in his mind.

Finally, after what feels like hours, a doctor steps out. Zayn is at her side in an instant.

“She’s stable,” the doctor says, her expression calm but serious. “She’s suffered a fractured femur, two broken ribs, and a concussion. She’ll need surgery to repair the leg, but the prognosis is good. It’s going to be a long recovery, but she’s strong.”

The weight on Zayn’s chest lifts just enough for him to breathe. “Can I see her?”

The doctor nods. “She’s being prepped for surgery, but you can see her briefly.”

When he steps into the room, his heart twists at the sight of you. You’re lying on the hospital bed, pale and fragile, your leg immobilized in a temporary brace. The beeping of monitors fills the room, and an IV drips steadily beside you. But your eyes flutter open when he walks in, and the faintest smile touches your lips.

“Hey,” you whisper, your voice weak but filled with relief.

Zayn moves to your side, his hand finding yours again as he sits in the chair next to your bed. “Hey, love,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, tears welling in your eyes. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Shh,” he interrupts, brushing your hair back gently. “Don’t apologize. None of this is your fault.”

You squeeze his hand weakly, your eyes searching his. “Thunder… Is he okay?”

Zayn smiles faintly, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. “He’s fine. A little shaken, but unharmed. He’s being looked after.”

Relief washes over your face, and your eyes close for a moment. “I was so scared…”

“So was I,” he admits, his voice breaking. “But you’re here, and you’re going to be okay. That’s all that matters.”

Before long, the nurses come to wheel you to surgery. Zayn presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as if he’s willing his strength into you. “I’ll be here when you wake up,” he promises. “I’m not going anywhere.”

...

The fog of anesthesia clings to you as you slowly drift back to consciousness. The world feels heavy and blurred, a haze of distant sounds and faint sensations. Gradually, the sterile light of the hospital room comes into focus, along with the rhythmic beeping of monitors and the faint hum of voices outside the door.

And then there’s him.

Zayn’s voice reaches you first, soft and full of quiet strength. “Hey, love… It’s me. I’m right here.”

You blink slowly, your eyes adjusting to the light. When you finally focus, Zayn is sitting at your bedside, his fingers wrapped tightly around yours. His face is etched with exhaustion, his dark eyes shadowed but filled with relief.

“Zayn,” you whisper, your voice hoarse and trembling.

He leans closer, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’m here,” he murmurs, his voice raw with emotion. “You’re awake. Thank God.”

Pain tugs at your body when you try to shift, and you let out a soft whimper. His free hand immediately moves to your shoulder, steadying you. “Don’t move, love. Just take it easy. You’re fresh out of surgery.”

Tears blur your vision as the memory of the fall rushes back. “I thought I wouldn’t make it,” you admit, your voice breaking.

Zayn’s jaw tightens, his grip on your hand firm but gentle. “Don’t say that,” he whispers. “You’re here now. You’re safe. That’s what matters.”

Tears spill down your cheeks, and he leans in, wiping them away with tender fingers. “It hurt so much,” you choke out, your body trembling. “I couldn’t stop it… I couldn’t—”

“Shh,” he soothes, his forehead pressing softly against yours. “I know, baby. I know. But you’re so strong. You fought through it. And I’ll be here to help you fight through the rest.”

You squeeze his hand weakly, grounding yourself in the warmth of his touch. “I’m so scared, Zayn.”

His voice softens, and his eyes meet yours, steady and unwavering. “You don’t have to be. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll face this together.”

For a moment, the room is quiet except for the beeping monitors and your ragged breaths. Then, through the haze of pain and exhaustion, you whisper, “Will you… hold me? Please?”

Zayn’s eyes widen briefly, but his expression softens almost immediately. “Of course,” he says without hesitation.

He glances at the narrow hospital bed, his brow furrowing. “We’ll figure it out,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

Carefully, Zayn slips off his shoes and climbs onto the small bed beside you. He maneuvers himself with the utmost care, mindful of your injuries. When he finally settles in, he wraps an arm gently around your shoulders, pulling you against his chest. His other hand cradles yours, his thumb tracing soothing circles over your knuckles.

You let out a shaky breath, the warmth of his body immediately easing the tension in yours. “This… this helps,” you murmur, your head resting against his chest. The steady beat of his heart is more comforting than any drug.

Zayn presses a soft kiss to your temple. “Good,” he whispers. “Then I’ll stay like this as long as you need.”

His presence is a balm, the weight of his arm around you grounding you in a way nothing else could. For the first time since the fall, you feel safe—truly safe. Despite the pain, despite the uncertainty of what’s ahead, you let yourself relax in his embrace, your breathing evening out as sleep starts to pull you under.

“I love you,” you whisper, the words soft but full of truth.

Zayn tightens his hold just slightly, his lips brushing against your hair. “I love you more,” he murmurs. “Rest, love. I’ve got you.”

And with that, you drift into a peaceful sleep, his arms your shelter from the storm.