#what are the chances of anyone here having the full stream saved.

[aromanticgarbage]

x

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Dangerously in Love (Part 2)

AI-Less Whumptober 2024: Day 28 Alt 8. Kidnapping Fandom: MCU, Frank Castle, The Punisher, f!reader Summary: After witnessing your murder on a video call, Frank's only focus is on revenge. But he's about to learn that things are not always as they seem... Word Count: 4389 TW: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Whump, Grief, Fighting, Blood, Gun Fight, Minor Character Death, Frank Carries Reader, Happy Ending Notes: Part of @ailesswhumptober's event

Part 5 of the “In Love” series

It had taken Frank three days and a trail of bodies in his wake, but he had finally located where Costa had streamed from. 

He had barely stopped since the moment he had left your—his—apartment and only to grab a handful of food or a few hours of sleep to keep up his strength for what was coming. Not that it would have made a difference if he tried to get a full night’s sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw your terrified, tear-soaked face pleading with him before hearing the deafening bang of the gun and your blood spraying as the camera cut out. While he hadn’t actually seen the damage that the bullet had done to you, he had seen enough bullet wounds in his life for his brain to fill in the blanks. And when that happened, he would jerk awake with tears streaming down his face.

After Maria and their children were murdered, Frank had sworn never to allow himself to care for someone like that again. It was too dangerous…he was too dangerous. And yet, all of that flew out the window the moment he met you. 

He tried to keep his walls up, to keep you out, but you quickly burst through them all as if they were made of vapor. And when you found out about the Punisher and who he really was yet still accepted him, it was over. Frank’s bullet-riddled heart began to beat again and it was all because of you.

You. The girl who would make fun of herself a hundred times over before ever saying a word against anyone else. The girl who couldn’t cook to save her life but still continuously put in a valiant effort. The girl who hid under a blanket during horror movies or gagged at the slightest scene with gore, yet pulled out the first aid kit without hesitation when he came home dripping in blood. 

He knew the risks, he knew the danger, but he also knew he couldn’t live without you in his life. But now that danger had caught up to you and he had lost you anyway. At least if he had kept his distance you would be out there somewhere living your life happy with someone else—not shot to death in a warehouse while you were alone and terrified.

As Frank approached that same warehouse now, he thought back to your last kiss just before he sent you off to stay with Red. At the time, he had promised you it wasn’t goodbye, that he would come back to you. Yet even though he knew there was a very good chance it was a lie, he never expected you to be the one not coming home.

Looking around, he was surprised to find there weren’t any men standing guard by the main entrance or on the rooftop. He remained on high alert, but crossed the empty lot to the front door and kicked it in. When no one opened fire or swarmed him, he ducked inside.

It appeared the warehouse had been abandoned for a while. Even though he could faintly hear the churning hum of a generator somewhere below him, it must only be for the lights since there didn’t seem to be any sort of air conditioner or fans in the building. But that made sense. Costa must have known Frank would come for him after what he did, and it was better for Frank to locate one of his temporary bases of operation instead of his main headquarters. 

Without slowing, he rubbed his face on the sleeve of his shirt to wipe the sweat out of his eyes as it poured down his brow. He continued through the warehouse—gun raised—as he scanned for any traces of Costa, even though so far it seemed as if he wasn’t here. But Frank wasn’t going to stop looking until he made sure. He wasn’t going to stop hunting him down until Costa lay dead at his feet.

However, when he reached the door at the end of the hall and threw it open, he stumbled to a halt as his heart froze in his chest.

It was the same room he had seen from the video call—barren concrete walls, a single light hanging down from the middle of the room, and a metal chair with your lifeless body still strapped to it. 

All of the air was instantly sucked from Frank’s lungs and his knees went weak. 

He hovered by the door, unable to make his feet take a single step closer to your limp form. He swallowed—hard—as tears stung at his eyes. It had never crossed his mind that he might find you here. He assumed Costa would have dumped your body somewhere it would never be found or incinerated it. Maybe Costa thought having Frank see you like this, to face what had happened in person, would throw him off his game. If that was the plan, it was succeeding. Seeing your violent death over video had been one thing, but finding your long cold corpse days later—

Wait. Something wasn’t right here.

You had been left in this dank, humid room for the past three days. He should have been greeted by the putrid smell of rot and decay as soon as he opened the door but instead, he only sensed the metallic bite of fresh blood. Blood that should have long since dried and lost its potency. Yet he could see the dark red pool beneath your chair was still wet—it was recent. 

Frank stumbled forward as if in a trance. It couldn’t be. He watched you die…hadn’t he? He saw the gun go off, a spray of blood, and your head snapped back—but he never saw the aftermath. Not really. The feed had gone black a second after the gun went off. Was there a chance?

The closer he got to where you were tied, the harder it was to look at you. You were still wearing his hoodie that you had been wearing in the video so it covered most of your skin. However, what was showing was littered with bruises and cuts of various sizes, layers of blood coating most of your visible skin as it had dried and been coated once more. The top layer still looked damp in some places, the color more vibrant and shiny in the dim light, and Frank silently prayed for a miracle. 

He hesitated as he reached you, knowing that the tiny flicker of hope he was allowing himself to feel could be instantly extinguished the second he touched you.  The air around him was deathly still as if the room itself was holding its breath waiting for an answer. He sank to kneel at your feet, as if you were some holy miracle he was prepared to worship. Unable to wait any longer, Frank slowly reached out and placed two fingers against the side of your throat.

For a moment, he felt nothing. Just your cool, clammy skin beneath his fingers, and his heart began to sink. But then—

Just as he felt the first weak thump of your pulse, your eyes slowly flickered open. Your gaze was glassy and unfocused but there was a small spark of recognition as you stared at the man kneeling before you. Your tongue ran briefly over your cracked, bloody lips before you weakly rasped, “-ank?”

Frank’s eyes grew wide as he clutched at your face, his fingers tangling deeply in your hair as he tried to convince himself you were real. “Yeah, sweetheart. It’s me. Oh god. I thought I’d lost you.” He fought back the tears that were building behind his eyes as he leaned forward to rest his forehead against yours.

You flinched as he shifted you and for the first time, he noticed the blood-soaked wrapping across your shoulder. Unlike the rest of your injuries, this one seemed more severe yet cared for and, if he had to guess, was probably where the bullet from the video call had struck you instead of the head as he had been led to believe. It was still a dire injury, yet he still felt a wave of relief flood over him. A shoulder wound you could heal from; a headshot was another story.

He stayed with his head pressed against yours, reveling in the fact you were alive and he had found you. Then he pulled back to gaze into your eyes. 

However, where he thought he would see joy or excitement, there was only terror. Slowly—painfully—you began moving your lips as you tried to tell him something but nothing came out except a hoarse exhale.

“Shhh. You don’t have to say anything,” Frank murmured softly as he rubbed his thumb gently across your cheekbone. “It’s okay. You’re safe now. I’m gonna get you outta here and bring you home to get some help.”

But you shook your head, the fear only intensifying in your eyes as you struggled to get your message across. Finally, you took a deep breath and managed to rasp out your message, “–’s a trap…Run.” 

Before Frank could process what you had said, the door to the room slammed open and dozens of armed men rushed into the room. Frank sprang to his feet and tried to put himself between these newcomers and you, but they quickly surrounded the two of you. 

“Well, look what we have here. Mr. Castle, we’ve been expecting you.” Costa chuckled cruelly as he walked through the door. “Although truthfully, I thought you would have been here a lot sooner. Three days is a long time to make your girlfriend wait with no food and very little water, especially when she is losing so much blood.”

“You bastard,” Frank growled as he stepped towards Costa, but he stopped as all of the soldiers around you raised their guns.

Costa’s grin widened. “Uh, uh, uh…I would be careful, Mr. Castle. One wrong move and my men open fire.”

“I can take it,” Frank said, stalking forward.

“I’m sure you can. Which is why not a single gun in this room is aimed at you.”

Frank froze in his tracks before glancing around the room. He hadn’t noticed it before, but Costa was right. Every gun was raised and they were all pointed directly at where you were still tied to the chair behind him. 

Turning, he locked eyes with you and it was clear you had noticed this as well. And yet, the fear that he had seen in your eyes the last time he had looked at you was gone, and in its place was a sort of calm acceptance. You gave him a small smile as you nodded and mouthed, “It’s okay. Go.” 

Frank’s heart swelled. Even after everything this bastard had done to you these past three days, you were still putting his safety above your own. God, how he loved you.

Costa laughed at the tender silent exchange between the two of you. “Oh, is this not precious? You know, she never once lost faith you’d come save her. She said you promised you’d come back and you never broke a promise. Every time one of my men came to check on her or to torture her, she insisted we’d all pay when you found her. Too bad her faith in you was so misguided.” He held up a finger and the men surrounding you all cocked their guns. “Just a word of advice, Mr. Castle that you will never have a chance to learn from: When you try storming the hideout of a known crimelord, don’t try doing it alone. You will always be vastly outnumbered.”

Frank raised his head and looked Costa dead in the eye as his lips curled into a knowing grin. “Who says I’m alone?”

Costa’s smile dropped just as the room was plunged into complete darkness. Frank immediately pivoted and dove towards the spot where he remembered your chair being. His aim was off slightly, but he still managed to grab the edge of the seat as he fell and he pulled it down to the floor with him. And just in time.

“Shoot them!” Costa’s voice rang out through the darkness. He was so focused on not letting you or Frank get away that he did not consider what he had just commanded his men to do.

Following their direct orders as they had been trained to do, Costa’s men opened fire. Bullets whizzed through the air over your heads, and Frank scrambled to cover you with his body as best as he could. You hadn’t made a sound since the lights went off, but Frank felt your hand weakly wrap itself into the fabric of his shirt, giving him a sign you were still with him.   

As the bullets continued to fly above you, cries of pain and heavy thuds began to fill the room. Quickly, those sounds became more frequent while the sounds of gunfire grew less and less. When the lights flickered back on, Frank saw that only a handful of men—including Costa—were left standing. All the rest were lying motionless on the floor where they were hit by the bullets from the men across from them. 

Glancing down, Frank saw you nestled safely under him with your eyes closed and your fingers still curled in his shirt. When you started to peek one eye open, Frank placed his hand over them. “Not yet,” he muttered. “Keep ‘em closed until I tell you to.”

He moved his hand to see you had followed his instructions—and just in time.

Frank felt the barrel of a gun dig into the back of his head. Slowly, he raised his hands. 

“Get to your feet,” Costa growled from behind him.

Slowly, Frank did as he was ordered. Your eyes remained closed, but he felt your grip on his shirt tighten. Carefully, he eased himself back until you were forced to let go, then he rose to his feet. Turning, he faced Costa, the gun still pressed against his skull. 

The mob boss’s face was deep red and a prominent vein in his forehead throbbed. “You just cost me a lot of men,” he snarled, spit flying from his lips and hitting Frank in the face. “I think it’s time we finally say goodbye, Mr. Castle. Tell your family I send my regards.”

Costa stepped back, his gun pointed at the center of Frank’s head. But just before he could pull the trigger, something flew from the hallway and struck his hand, causing him to drop the gun as he cursed loudly. Costa looked down at the red billy club lying next to his gun on the floor then raised his head just in time to see a red-clad figure with a horned helmet burst into the room. 

About damn time.

Frank grinned as he watched Costa stumble backward at the sight of Red ducking and dodging as he lay blow after blow on his remaining men. Using this momentary distraction, Frank charged forward and wrenched the gun from Costa’s hand. The other man’s eyes grew wide and he started to beg for mercy, but Frank didn’t deal in mercy—he dealt in punishment.

Pointing the barrel of the gun between Costa’s eyes, Frank growled, “I’ll see you in Hell.” And he pulled the trigger.

Costa’s head exploded as his body crumpled to the floor. Wiping blood and brain matter from his face, Frank turned to see Red knocking out the last of Costa’s men. 

As the vigilante turned towards him, he sighed. “Frank, you promised if I helped, there’d be no killing.”

Frank threw the gun to the floor as he snapped, “Yeah well, tell that to my wife and kids who he had murdered or my girlfriend—your friend—he left to waste away as bait tied to that chair.”

Red pressed his lips into a tight line but didn’t say anything. Frank knew this discussion wasn’t over but he was grateful Red was willing to leave it alone for the time being. There was a much more important matter that needed to be attended to at the moment.

Hurrying over to where you lay on the floor still tied down, Frank carefully righted the chair and cupped your cheek, tilting your head to get a better look at your face. Your skin was littered with bruises and cuts in various stages of healing, and your bottom lip was split wide. Your eyes were still closed just as Frank had instructed you to do.

Glancing at Red, he asked, “Is she gonna be alright?”

Red placed his hand on the side of your neck just below your jaw. He cocked his head slightly as he listened for a moment, then sighed. “Her heartbeat’s weak and parts of her body are shutting down.” He turned his head towards Frank. “It’s really bad, but if she gets help soon, I think she’ll be okay.”

Frank felt the tightness in his chest lessen slightly. At least there was a chance. 

As Red dropped his hand, your eyes fluttered open. Surprised to see the other man with Frank, you asked, “M-Matt…?”

Red grinned sadly down at you. “Hey. Long time no see.”

You exhaled softly in a poor attempt at a laugh but then your lip began to quiver. “—’m sorry…shouldn’ta left…”

Red placed his hand on your uninjured shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze. “No, it’s my fault too. I knew you wanted to be with Frank and I should’ve kept a better eye on you.” He paused and tilted his head “...That one wasn’t actually supposed to be a joke.”

“You two can pass around all the blame you want once we get outta here,” Frank grumbled before you could try to muster up another response. “Costa might have backup arriving at any minute.”

He wiped his hands on his pants to clean off as much blood as possible. Then he pulled out his knife and cut your bonds. Now unconfined, your body slumped limply in the seat until Frank gingerly lifted you up. 

You felt so delicate and frail in his arms. As if you would snap in half with the slightest pressure. Your breathing was still very labored and ragged but no matter how Frank repositioned you, nothing seemed to help. 

Moaning softly, you muttered, “Frank…?”

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ve got you now. You’re safe. Get some rest, sweetheart.”

You nodded into his chest just before your body went limp in his arms. It seemed as if the trauma from the last few days had finally caught up to you and now that you were safe, your body and mind finally allowed you some peace.

Staring down at your broken body as you still struggled for each breath, Frank felt tears begin to silently stream down his face, and for once he was glad that Red couldn’t see him. However, by the way those red lenses were locked onto him, he had a feeling the vigilante knew exactly what was happening. As Frank passed by him as he held open the front door of the warehouse, Red’s hand shot out and grabbed Frank’s arm. 

Giving it a tight squeeze, he said, “It’s over, Frank. You saved her and she’s going to be okay.”

Yanking his arm from Red’s grasp, he growled, “We both know for her, this will never be over and I doubt she’ll ever really be okay again.”

Without another word or even a glance in his direction, Frank stalked through the warehouse and out the exit. It was time to get you home.

When Frank got you back to your shared apartment, Claire was already there waiting for you. Red must have called her on the way. Frank was used to tending to his own injuries, not someone else’s so as much as he preferred to handle things on his own, he was grateful for the help. 

He was also grateful Claire didn’t mention the destroyed living room that Frank had left after thinking you had been killed. In all honestly, once he killed Costa, Frank had never planned to return to your apartment. It was too painful imagining living here without you, surrounded by the memories of what was and the dreams of what might have been. Yet now that he knew you were alive, he was going to have to clean up his mess. But for now, he carried you into the bedroom and laid you down on your bed.

Claire tended to your gunshot and your various other injuries. Then she hooked you up to an IV to replenish your fluids and help fight off any infections you might have gotten in sitting in that sweltering warehouse for days. Then she gave Frank a bottle of extra-strength pain medication and told him to give it to you as needed. She promised to check back in after her shift at the hospital and she left. 

Several hours later, you were fast asleep but Frank could see it wasn’t a peaceful one. Your jaw was clenched tightly beneath a furrowed brow and your right hand clutched at the sheets, twisting them tightly into your fist. Every so often, you would let out a soft whimper or your breathing would momentarily become more ragged. And at one point, tears began slipping down your cheeks.

Frank watched it all from his chair next to the bed, the stabbing ache in his chest growing stronger with each passing moment. He had helped you into a fresh tank top after Claire finished patching you up. As you shifted, the blankets slipped down revealing more skin and Frank noticed more injuries he hadn’t seen when you were wearing his hoodie. You hadn’t said a word about what they did to you, but Frank had seen enough injuries like these to get a pretty good picture. And while some would heal completely, the deeper ones would never truly fade. You would have to carry these scars as a permanent reminder of how he had failed to protect you. 

“I found the perfect wedding dress.”

Startled, Frank’s head jerked up to see your eyes now opened and a soft smile on your face. “What?”

Patting the empty spot on the bed next to you, you said, “I looked online while I was at Matt’s place.”

Frank chuckled as he climbed into the bed and placed his arm behind your head. “You were there for less than a day and you found one?”

You nodded, snuggling your face into his chest. “The second I saw it I knew. It was the one I wanted to marry you in.” You paused, then added, “Just like at that moment I knew I didn’t want to be apart from you, no matter how much danger I might be in.”

So…it was time for this conversation.

Frank sighed, “Sweetheart—”

But you cut him off. “No, Frank. I know what you’re gonna say. But it was my fault, not yours. You sent me away someplace you knew I’d be safe. And I would have been—if I had stayed. But I came back—knowing the risks—because I love you and couldn’t stay away. So everything that’s happened is all because of me and my decisions. Not yours.”

“But you wouldn’t have ever needed to be sent away to keep you safe if you weren’t with me,” Frank countered.

“Maybe. But any life without you in it isn’t one I want to live.” You pressed your lips against the bare skin of his neck. “So if that means I’m put in danger from time to time, it’s a cost I’m willing to pay.” 

“What if I’m not willing to pay for my happiness with your life? Because that’s what might happen one of these days if you stay. As bad as this was, we were lucky. Next time, we might not be.”

Sighing, you sat up and stared at him, your lips pressed together in a frustrated line. “Frank, do you realize that everything you’re feeling right now—all this dread and uncertainty and heart-stopping terror that something might happen to me—that’s what I feel every single time you walk out the door as The Punisher. I never know when I kiss you goodbye if that will be the last time I ever see you alive. But I never try to stop you. I just sit here patiently and pray you’ll walk back through that door to give me another kiss. And yes, this life you’ve chosen is dangerous for the both of us. But are you telling me that you aren’t willing to deal with those same feelings you put me through on a weekly basis in order to be with me?”

“Well, fuck, sweetheart,” Frank muttered looking down at his hands. “When you put it like that, it’d be pretty selfish of me to say no, huh?”

“Exactly.” Placing your finger under his chin, you tilted his head up until he was looking at you. The adoration in your gaze made the last lingering doubts about whether or not he should stay vanish. As you stroked his cheek, you cooed, “And if I know one thing about you, Frank Castle, it’s that you are one of the most selfless men I know. And I love you with everything in me.”

Frank leaned forward and kissed your forehead. “I love you too, sweetheart. More than I ever thought possible. And if you’re sure this life of danger is what you want, then you can buy that wedding dress tomorrow.”

“Too late,” you giggled, wrapping your good arm around Frank’s neck in a half-hug. “I already ordered it while you were in the shower.”

Frank shook his head with a soft chuckle. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Marry me,” you said with complete seriousness. “Then we’ll have the rest of our lives together to figure out what comes next.”

Frank pulled you down—carefully minding all of your injuries—so you were lying on top of him. As he felt your eyelashes flutter closed against his bare chest, he murmured, “That’s exactly what we’ll do. I promise.” He pressed his lips against the top of your head. “And have I ever broken my promise?”

[thehaemanthus]

of two hearts one heart make we

It is the right of Rhysand, consort to the New Queen Amarantha, to take all Omegas in the land as his. Feyre, even at the altar, cannot escape this fate. Nor, it seems, can her sisters. Part 1 of 2. Feysand, with Rhysand/Nesta and Rhysand/Elain. Dubious consent, A/B/O, voyeurism, AU. Dead dove I don't wanna see none of y'all making noise about "eww, Rhys and Nesta"

yeah yeah yeah, the week is over, I'm agonizing over this and it's not done. But here's a part one for @acotar-omegaverse-week

I'm too scared to post this on AO3 that's how you know this is insane and the premise is weak. But, unfortunately, I wrote it and I think it's hot

Title from "The Heart that Loveth Me", which I'm not even sure is a real poem because the only place I can find it is a blog?

It was quite a leap to go from orphan girl on the fringe of society to Lady of the land, and if all went well today Feyre would be successful in taking that step. 

Already, the days had seemed like a dream. From the moment the Lord spied her washing off in a stream— a faerie come to tempt him— to the quick proposal of marriage to her wedding day. But Lord Tamlin knew what he wanted, and who was she to question him? He got a wife, she received a belly full of food, a warm bed for her and her sisters, and a decent man. Feyre was uncommonly lucky. 

Handmaidens brushed her hair and dabbed scented oil on her skin. Nesta and Elain watched, sitting at the other end of the room. The dark wood and gray stone showed its age, and the room smelled smoky from the centuries of fires made in its great hearth. The crackle of the fire and the scrape of the brush through Feyre’s hair were the only sounds in the room. Elsewhere, the chapel attached to the palace was filling with noble guests. 

“What if he shows up?” The words spilled from Feyre’s mouth. Her eyes met Nesta’s in the looking glass.

“He won’t,” a matronly woman said. She was here to supervise the handmaidens. “This is a joyous day, child.” 

Nesta wasn’t as convinced. “How many guards in this palace?” 

“Many,” the matron nearly snaps Nesta’s nose off. “Four shall be assigned to the bride. Two each for you and your sister.” 

If he did show up, that might not be enough. No one states the obvious. 

It’s not long before she stands at the door to the room, wary of sitting should something be knocked askew. Feyre has never seen anyone wear this much cream and gold. How many bellies could be fed with the silver it took to pay for such a gown that glows in the sunlight? The wildflowers in her hair, in contrast, were plucked by her own sisters in the fields outside the wall.

Outside. Feyre is glad to be marrying Tamlin, for she will no longer have to go outside to hunt and scavenge. She will no longer be allowed to romp through the mud and bathe in streams. Really, she would be surprised if she were allowed to leave the confines of the palace. 

“This is a bad idea.”

“Nesta!” It’s only the three sisters and a chambermaid in the room, but Elain still glances around like the groom himself will step out of the shadows. 

Their oldest sister crosses her arms. “You don’t know for sure that he will continue to let you take the necessary precautions. You place too much trust in a man you don’t know well enough. Worse, you endanger our lives.”

Elain shakes her head. “Feyre is saving our lives—”

“If we stay in this household,” Nesta barrels forward. “Even if we are given a holding of our own, there will be servants. It is too hard to keep this quiet when you are never alone, Feyre!”

“Why should you keep it quiet?” She fiddles with the posy in her hands. “Do you not think my husband can protect all of us?”

Nesta sneers. “No, I do not, and neither do you!”

Feyre does not get a chance to respond. A knock followed by the door swinging open signals the end of their time together. A page boy nods shallowly. “Please follow me.”

There is no one to walk Feyre down the aisle. Once, she had a wealthy father and a mother that was so desired, her dowry included enough silver and jewels to make a queen envious. Feyre and her sisters were the prettiest pieces in their mother’s collection, until of course the wealth was squandered. Then, all they became were potential victims. But Feyre didn’t get her sisters this far to give up now. Marriage to Tamlin, who knows her nature, is safe. This is the station she had always been meant for. 

It doesn't mean she had to like it. 

The chapel is filled with incense and unfamiliar faces. Tapestries dangle on the stone walls, giving some life to the dim room. Outside is Feyre’s old life, all muddy streets and thatched roofs and backbreaking work and secrets. Here, here is her future as a wealthy, kept woman. 

Feyre makes it to the end of the aisle, smiling shyly at Tamlin. She barely knows this lord, but he’s been kind and respectful. A life with him will be blessed. Her sisters followed her down the aisle, but now shift to the side. The priest smiles. His silly hat looks sillier because he acts so serious. 

“Honored guests, thank you for joining us for this most auspicious union—”

The sound of boots on stone echoes through the chapel. Feyre turns, and her stomach sinks. The figure that emerges from the shadows is tall and broad, a dark spot in the light chapel with garlands of white flowers. 

“I have an objection.” She’s never seen this man before in her life, but there’s only one person he could be. “That, right there, is an Omega female. The laws of this land state all Omegas are to be presented before me. Why wasn’t she?” 

“Leave,” Tamlin snarls. “You cannot steal my bride—“

“I could steal her if she was wed, bed, and with child.” The man stalks down the aisle. “I am the lord of these lands.”

Tamlin releases of her hands and rests his hand on the pommel of his sword. “No, I am—“

“You are a vassal,” the man says, stopping in front of them. He is dressed in black. His boots are nearly spotless, impressive considering he would have had to ride to get here. The great black cloak over his tunic and leather jerkin adds to his already imposing size. “Your father lost these lands, and you sit here in your decaying splendor because I allow it.” 

Feyre freezes as those violet eyes turn to her. The world is crashing down around her, but there is only silence beyond the roaring in her ears. 

“Your name, lady,” he mocks her. It is not an Alpha order, not yet. But there is enough iron in his words to make her confidence quake. 

Her mouth is dry, and her voice is soft when she says, “I don’t belong to you.”

“Not yet,” he smiles, but it’s not a kind one. “But every Omega in the lands I control has the potential to.” He circles her, and Feyre tries to follow him with her gaze. Then he reaches out, one arm wrapped around her waist as his hand grips her jaw. His chest pressed against her back, and he must be hunched over because she feels smothered. 

Feyre shudders as he breathes her in. “She smells delicious Tamlin, here take a sniff— ah, I forgot. You can’t.” 

She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment. Maybe it all has been a dream so far, because this surely cannot be real. She would not believe it was real, save for the iron grip, the hard body pressed against hers, and the unmistakable smell of an Alpha. Something in her begins to scream and sigh. 

Her eyes snap open as he hauls her backward. “I might have been lenient if you informed me and notified me of your intentions to wed the Omega. Especially because she has sisters.”

From nowhere, other men dressed in black flood the chapel. Guests, previously frozen, panic and scramble like ants in a disturbed anthill. 

Feyre’s knees nearly give out as two men zero in on her sisters. Nesta begins to fight, which reminds her that she should, too. Clearly, her captor didn’t expect it. She wretches one arm free, and in the commotion finds another hand. 

The startling red hair and distinctive eyepatch identifies Tamlin’s seneschal, Lucien. He yanks, but it’s not enough. She feels like a toy between the two men, crying out in pain until she’s twisted, a hand in her hair forcing her to look at Tamlin. His face is pale, fury making his tense jaw twitch. The crown of flowers lies on the ground, trampled. 

“Fight me if you want, Tamlin.” This monster doesn’t even sound winded. Feyre wilts. “You know the consequences.”

Somehow, Lucien keeps a grip on her wrist. It tightens. If they coordinate, they can work together to get her away—

“Go,” Tamlin’s lip curls. “I cannot stop you from being a monster. So be it.”

Lucien snarls. “Tamlin, you cannot—”

“Let her go, Lucien.” Feyre’s husband-to-be turns his back. “One woman, or a war we cannot win. Were I not a leader burdened with these decisions…”

The man behind her snorts quietly, but Feyre hears it. It shocks her from her surprise. “Tamlin?” Surely he cannot mean that. He was going to marry her. His flowery words— she can’t remember all of them, but did they not amount to some type of love? 

“Expect to see one of my representatives soon,” the man behind her says. “You broke the law, Tamlin.”

Feyre does not see anything but the back of her beloved. Even as they leave the room, even as she is carried from the palace, his hunched shoulders are imprinted in her mind. The sight is stronger when they place a blindfold over her eyes. 

Elain sniffles somewhere next to her. Nesta is quiet, and Feyre is glad. Her eldest sister has the right to say “I told you so”. 

With a marriage to a local lord, Feyre was supposed to secure safety and security for her and her Omega sisters. But the opposite, it seems, has happened. For everyone knows that to be an Omega captured by Rhysand, consort of the New Queen Amarantha, is to be lost forever. 

—

The day Feyre showed the first signs of presenting was the happiest of her life. 

She was young, only nine, but a nursemaid caught a scent of something. A physician was quickly called, and the diagnosis was confirmed. Feyre Archeron was the third Omega daughter born to her Alpha parents, nearly unheard of. 

Her mother brought Feyre and her sisters to her chambers. She sat, gazing at her daughters with what Feyre thought was pride. It was simple avarice. But when she was nine and had missed the affection of a mother for so long, any look sent her way was treasured. 

“My girls,” her mother had cooed. “We shall find rich, powerful husbands for you. Only Alphas. You will be the wives of kings and princes, mark my words.” 

For a woman who, due to common blood, failed to rise higher than a wealthy merchant, blue blood for her daughters would be the fulfillment of her own dream. Feyre followed the instructions of her mother and the example of her sisters. Dread wound its way around her like ivy, growing to constrict Feyre more with each passing year. 

It fell apart rather quickly. Mother died. Father, lost in his grief, lost their money in the tumult of the New Queen’s conquest. Father died. They had no money, just a maid who left them with some final parting advice. 

Being a penniless Omega is not a blessing in this world. A whorehouse, a vessel to be used by Alpha soldiers with an itch to scratch. Or a slave in some distant household. The possibilities run through Feyre’s mind as she stands, shivering with fear. They sat in the cart long enough for the chill of night to fall and for her ass to fall asleep. 

She thought they might be inside a tent. It was marginally warmer, and there was no breeze. Steps near her make her flinch a moment before the blindfold rips away. She squints, seeing her sisters on either side of her.

“Lord Tamlin broke the laws of this land when he failed to report three Omegas living in his territory.” Through her lashes and the pieces of hair falling in her face, Feyre sees Rhysand. He is the consort of the New Queen, but no one has ever called him king or prince. He is simply Rhysand, the sword that the New Queen wields. Feyre does not know where he came from, only that he is known for his violence, his dominance as an Alpha, and for rounding up Omegas. 

He studies them now, satisfaction poorly concealed on his face. Hate rises in Feyre’s belly. Hate is easier than fear.

“I am impressed you managed to hide for this long.” His gaze roves over all of them. Feyre fights the urge to squirm. Already, the large tent fills with his scent. Alpha. Protector. Powerful. Dangerous, her mind tries to say. Perfect, her nose tells her. 

One moment she is lost in the haze, and in the next a sharp point of a knife digs into her throat. Feyre struggles for only a second before freezing.

Nesta’s bound hands grip the knife. Her arms wrap around Feyre from the back, but it’s the point of the knife against her skin that keeps Feyre still.

“You will not have us.” Her sister’s voice shakes with rage, and maybe fear. 

Her sister. Nesta has a knife— hid it away somehow? Now she is poised to kill Feyre. Across the small space, Rhysand is on his feet, eyes narrowed.

“Nesta?” Elain whimpers.

“I won’t allow you to touch my sisters,” Nesta says, voice rough with fury. The knife digs a little deeper. 

Feyre’s breathing picks up. Nesta will kill her. Nesta is going to hurt her—

Rhysand’s powerful voice does not increase in volume, but Feyre feels her mind drawn to him anyway. “Put the knife down.” Something has changed in his tone. It is an order.

Nesta falters a bit before recovering.

“What do you think will happen?” Rhysand prowls forward, honey in his voice. The blast of his Alpha’s power floods the small space. “You will try to kill your sister. I will strike as you do, removing the weapon from your hands. Then you are weaponless. As the youngest of you lies bleeding, I will call for my healers. Do you know how to kill, little warrior? Have you slaughtered the sheep for feasts or broken the neck of birds? Stand down, Omega.” 

Nesta inhales sharply. Feyre can feel the tremor run through her. The tip of the knife scrapes Feyre’s neck. Her sister screeches, and then Nesta is gone.

The relief and shock brings Feyre to her knees. She inhales as if she’d been strangled. Behind her, Nesta shouts abuses. Feyre glances over her shoulder, where two large men restrain her oldest sister and wrestle the knife away. 

“It was a noble attempt,” Rhysand says, turning his back and sitting down. “Now, let me tell you what is about to happen.”

Elain shuffles towards Feyre. The silence as her sister helps her to her feet feels like mockery. When they are all standing, and in Nesta’s case restrained, Rhysand speaks. “We ride for the nearest monastery, where you will be kept with other Omegas in my care. You will not complain, you will not try to run. Am I clear?”

What else is there to do but glare? Even Elain does not speak or nod. 

Rhysand continues, unfazed. “You are my Omegas now. I will take certain steps to maintain your wellbeing, which means I need information. When were your last heats?”

A blush blooms on Feyre’s skin, so deep she must be radiating warmth. Elain makes a small noise, looking down at her feet. These are not things one talks about, certainly not with a male stranger. The silence stretches. 

“Answer me.” The honey is back in Rhysand’s voice, laced with iron. “How long ago was your last heat? Is one approaching?”

Feyre wishes she had an answer for him. Embarrassment starts to be eclipsed by fear. The words wait on her tongue. If she opens her mouth and tells him, this Alpha will approve of her. She should want his approval. 

“How did you conceal yourselves?” A new voice says, one of the men holding Nesta. His voice is smokey, and his eyes are narrowed. Their silence gives him room to speak. “Was it Widow’s Milkweed?”

Something gives them away. Maybe it’s the way Elain’s eyes turn especially doe-ish when she lies, maybe it’s the slight twitch from Feyre, maybe it’s the way Nesta puffs up at any criticism— but now they know.

The other man holding Nesta hisses. “Fuck.”

“Indeed.” The honey is gone from Rhysand’s voice. “When was your last dose?”

Again, they are silent. They do not have that luxury for long. Faster than Feyre can process, Rhysand hauls her close with one hand fisted in the neckline of her gown. Elain cries out, clawing at Feyre with bound hands. 

Up close, his violet eyes are mesmerizing and terrifying. “Your sister was ready to kill you to spare you the fate of becoming an Omega plaything. Do not spit on that attempt. If you value yourself at all, tell me when you took the last dose of Widow’s Milkweed.”

The words spill from her mouth. “Four days ago.” Feyre’s voice does not shake, but it is soft. Four days ago, she was supposed to have taken the last sip of tea that would subdue her heats. Tamlin wasn’t an Alpha, but Betas could see Omegas through heats, too. That’s what he told her. 

Rhysand releases her, stalking away. He is a dangerous predator, pacing in the enclosed space. “And you two?”

Elain and Nesta exchange looks, but it’s Elain who speaks. “Tamlin moved us into his household at the same time as Feyre. He didn’t want us taking Widow’s Milkweed. We had planned to take a dose right after the wedding—”

Rhysand slashes his hand through the air, silencing Elain. 

“Rhys—”

“I know, Azriel.” The expression on his face chills Feyre like nothing else has. Rhysand is in charge here. He is the monster. An Alpha in control should never look this unsteady.

“Widow’s Milkweed is incredibly dangerous,” he says. “By tomorrow…maybe sooner, your scents will change and you’ll be shedding pheromones like leaves in autumn. All of my Alpha soldiers will converge on you like a pack of dogs. There is no telling when your heats will develop.” 

“You said there was a monastery.” Monasteries were populated exclusively by Betas and the Omegas they sheltered. They were centers of healing, spirituality, and knowledge. Isolated and hard to reach, they were purposefully built to keep Alphas at bay. 

But Rhysand dashes Feyre’s hopes. “The closest is a week’s ride.”

“Our holding is closer.” The larger man who holds Nesta suggests. 

“Still too far,” Rhysand says. The silence in the tent gives Feyre nothing to do but think. Maybe he’ll decide the effort is not worth it and throw them to his men. A shiver goes through her. 

Finally, he speaks. “You will allow me to scent mark all of you.”

The other men in the room seem shocked, but Rhysand speaks before they can. “You will remain maids, but I cannot claim your virtue will be intact. It will happen here, tonight. One least one of my men will be present to oversee the proceedings and ensure things don’t…get out of hand.”

“What—” Elain’s voice cracks. “What does scent marking mean?”

The men exchange a look. The one with a smokey voice, Azriel, shakes his head. “Save us from mothers and their misguided attempts to shelter their daughters.”

“Do you know what happens between an Alpha and Omega in the mating bed?” Rhysand asks. 

Feyre blushes. She is familiar with how farmyard animals act, but not people. Her knowledge amounts to something like she would feel strange, desire her alpha’s touch, and that her alpha would guide her through these desires. At the end of a few days, she would come out of her heat. In three season’s time, if she was lucky, there would be a baby. 

To her surprise, it’s Nesta who answers. “The alpha repeatedly gives the omega their seed, which results in a child.” 

The embarrassed silence reigns before the larger man clears his throat. “Well, that’s not wrong.” 

“The mixture of seed and slick produces its own powerful note in your usual scent, subtle but detectable,” Rhysand explains. “It’s not the same as the scent of a mated couple, but it does send a signal.”

The man leans forward. “You want to claim all three of them as yours?”

“Don’t,” Rhysand snaps. “They must all be mine, Cassian. If I hand the Omegas out like gifts, there will be fighting. We cannot afford discord.”

“It does add to his reputation,” Azriel says. “It’s not a bad idea, strategically.”

“We are not objects to be dealt with!” Nesta snaps. “You cannot claim all of us, the natural order of things will not allow it—”

“I make no claim,” Rhysand says. 

“How?” Feyre finds her voice. “I still don't understand. We have…slick, and you have seed. How do you combine these?” 

“He wants to lay with us,” Nesta spats.

Elain blanches. “You said we will be maids.”

Something about this must be amusing, because the men trade looks. That, of all things, finally makes Feyre snap. “No. We’ll…we can hide away somewhere.”

“On these plains, at this time of year, with these winds?” Rhysand jerks his head outside. “An Alpha will catch a scent within hours. This is not a debate.” His voice changes, and the words become commands. “You will bathe, change, and allow me to scent mark you. You will not fight and you will not argue.”

Inside, Feyre screeches. On the outside, she is silent. Her body relaxes, given directions by an Alpha. 

Definite chance of survival at the expense of laying with a monster, or hiding and hoping they are not found and raped or captured by someone else? 

If Rhysand had given them the choice, Feyre cannot say what she would have done. 

A bell should toll or a fierce wind should blow through the plains, a supernatural signal that a fate has been sealed. But it is quiet and still, the crackling of the one brazier in the tent undisturbed. 

Things move quickly after that. Rhysand’s men, Azriel and Cassian, hustle them to another larger tent. They do not speak, not to give orders or to taunt. Their tense faces and the looks they exchange do enough to silence the sisters. Feyre glances at the low bed covered in furs and the rugs on the floor, the flagon of wine and too many lit candles to waste all at once, before she dips behind a changing screen. They bathe with a pot of hot water and a cake of soap. 

“Change into these,” a gruff voice says from the other side of the screen. A moment later, a bundle of cream fabric flips over the top of the changing screen. As soon as Feyre takes one of the shirts, she knows they belong to Rhysand. The heady scent of Alpha drips from them, along with a clean scent of soap. 

For as long as Feyre has been a mature Omega, she has taken Widow’s Milkweed to suppress heats and keep her Omega scent dormant. That didn’t mean she was immune to Alphas. Their commands and their scent, their presence made her want to lay on her back or stick her nose into their necks to take in more. Sometimes the scent told her this was an Alpha that would wrap her in their arms, sometimes the scent told her to open her legs. Rhysand’s scent did everything, said everything that made her Omega soul sing. 

Was this why everyone said Rhysand was the most powerful Alpha in the land? That couldn’t be— Amarantha, the New Queen, was the real power. 

Feyre’s hands shook as she tugged the shirt on. It hung to her knees, and the neck was so large it nearly fell off of her shoulders. Beside her, Nesta and Elain did the same. Nesta’s movements were furious, while Elain’s were careful and purposeful. They were scared. They were all scared and showing it in different ways. But they could not disobey an order.

Nesta took her hand, the other gripping Elain, and dragged them out. “I will go first,” her sister declared. She pushed them to the low cushions and rug. “Sit.”

“Pushy, for an Omega,” Rhysand commented. Feyre jumped. How could she have forgotten he was there, playing with a glass of wine as he sat at the table with his men. 

Nesta does not respond, merely walks to the bed and sits on the edge. 

“Lay on your side,” Rhysand says. He begins to disrobe, and Feyre glances down to her hands. The sound of fabric shifting and dropping seems especially loud.

Nesta, stiff as a plank, lays on her side facing her sisters. Feyre is grateful she does not try to meet their gaze. She does not know if she would be able to keep it. Instead, Nesta stares somewhere above their heads.

Rhysand, clad only in a shirt, lays behind her. Nesta quivers, and Feyre has to look away again.

She cannot stop her ears from hearing, though. 

“The more you relax, the quicker this will be,” Rhysand says. Then it is quiet, save for the crackle of fire, the sound of breathing, and the rasp of skin on fabric. 

It might be a minute later than Nesta gasps. Feyre’s eyes widen, but she keeps them pinned down. Another moment, and a strange noise leaves her sister’s mouth. Feyre’s eyes look without her mind ordering them too. 

One of Rhysand’s arms curls beneath Nesta’s neck so that his hand can caress her breast under the shirt. The other hand traces slow circles low on Nesta’s stomach. Her sister has color high in her cheeks, eyes so wide they seem a little shocked. Her lip is caught between her teeth, though small sounds still escape. She grips the bedding under her like it is her salvation. 

Feyre watches the hand on her sister’s breast as the shirt slips. She’s seen her sisters nude— they are sisters and they have been poor more than they have been wealthy which amounts to little privacy. But not like this, as a man enjoys in her flesh. Rhysand’s fingers, dark against Nesta’s milk-white skin, pinch a pink nipple and Nesta jerks. 

“Shh, Omega,” Rhysand’s honey voice is back. A yawning ache opens in Feyre. “Relax.”

The hand on her stomach dips lower, under the hem of the shirt and then back up. Nesta makes a shocked sound, squirming. The hand on her breast turns restraining, and then Rhysand groans. 

A flood of heat washes through Feyre. She should look away again, but she cannot. 

“Hush,” Rhysand murmurs again. “Lift your leg, put it over mine— there. Good.” 

Feyre lists forward, yearning for his praise. Then she snaps out of it, taking a deep breath and looking away for a moment. She should not be feeling…any of this. But her eyes draw back to the scene in front of her anyway. 

The shirt blocks the view of what’s happening, but Feyre can tell Rhysand’s hand is moving between Nesta’s legs. Her sister starts to breathe rapidly, little strange gasps and mewls escaping her lips. Her eyes are still open and shocked, staring at the wall of the tent like she cannot believe what is happening to her. 

Feyre jumps when Nesta cries out, harsh and loud. Her body arches, toes curling. 

“That’s it.” Strain coats Rhysand’s voice. 

Nesta turns her face into the bedding, but she can’t muffle the little cries. Feyre shifts in her seat, eyes wide and breathing shallow. Is that what it is like to lie with a man? 

She thinks it is done, but is not prepared for Rhysand’s movements. The hand under Nesta’s shirt extricates itself. He fumbles with something between them before gripping the thigh Nesta has thrown over his own leg. Then he starts to move. 

The sound of something wet had been in the tent before, but now it is louder. Everything seems louder and harsher, from the pitiful cries of her sister to the grunting from Rhysand to the wet slap of skin. Feyre can see where Rhysand’s fingers dig into Nesta’s skin. Over Nesta’s shoulder, his eyes are closed and his brow is furrowed as if in pain. 

Then those violet eyes snap open. They lock on Feyre, and she can’t look away. She can’t look away as the man ruts into her sister like an animal. Her freedom comes when he bows his head forward. He jerks violently a handful of times before stilling. 

The quiet is awkward. Feyre’s breathing is too loud. She only becomes more uncomfortable when Rhysand dips his hand back between Nesta’s legs. It works there for a moment, drawing a hiss from Nesta, before roaming all over her body. 

The slick and the seed. That must be what it is, and now he spreads the scent on Nesta’s glands. Feyre shudders and is finally able to look away. Her hands shake a bit in her lap, and there’s a yawning feeling in her gut. Why does she want to cry?

“Stay here for a while,” Rhysand’s voice breaks the silence. “It takes a moment to come down.”

The words are not meant for her, but the reassuring Alpha brings Feyre back to equilibrium. This is a strong Alpha, and she shouldn’t feel so distressed in his presence. Even if he is ignoring her— 

“I am next,” Elain declares. The flash of anger and panic is enough to silence Feyre, though she doesn’t know what she would say if she could. Elain just squeezes Feyre’s hand and stands. She is numb as she watches her sisters switch places, as Nesta stumbles behind the changing screen with instructions to clean up a bit but not wipe away the evidence of what just happened. The scent needs to set in. 

Elain asks to face away from her sisters. Rhysand obliges. He too disappears behind the changing screen before laying behind Elain. Again, Feyre tries to look away. Again, she is unable to. Though covered by a long shirt, she is mesmerized by the play of the muscles in his back. Rhysand treats Elain the same he did with Nesta, slow caresses graduating to his hand between her legs. Elain’s slender leg trembles where it’s thrown over Rhysand, the only visible part of her sister. The rest is concealed by Rhysand’s bulk. From this view, Feyre can see how his body flexes. She stares at the way Elain’s bare leg rubs against Rhysand’s and wonders what it would be like, how the hairs on his legs would tickle her and how it would feel to touch that much coiled power. 

Then Elain crests with loud moans. Again, Rhysand grips her and starts moving. His shirt rides up, giving Feyre a few of his backside and something between his legs. His grunts are louder this time as he drives into Elain, as are Elain’s own whimpers. Soon, Rhysand slams his hips violently into Elain before stilling. Again, Feyre watches as he touches one of her sisters as she mewls. 

No one says anything for a while. Where Nesta was eager to stand as soon as she could, Elain seems frozen in place. 

“Azriel,” Rhysand says. His rough voice scrapes Feyre. “Help her up.”

There is no hesitation in Azriel’s movement as he assists Elain in standing and guides her to the changing screen, touching her no more than he has to. 

On the bed, Rhys rolls onto his back and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I might need a minute.”

That’s fine. Feyre isn’t sure she could stand if she wanted to, right now. After a minute of rustling fabric and the splash of water, Elain emerges. Head down, she scuttles to Feyre and Nesta and plants herself next to them. Elain settles, quickly squeezing Feyre’s shoulder before turning her face into Nesta’s shoulder.

Rhys rises from the bed and disappears behind the changing screen. 

“We did it, you can too.” Nesta prods her into movement. Slowly, Feyre stands and walks to the edge of the bed. There are wet spots staining the bedding, and the mixture of smells makes her stomach churn. There’s the familiarity of her sisters. It’s their scent, but somehow different. Those scents are mixed with the heady scent of her Alpha—

No. Of Rhysand. He might be an Alpha, but she would not give him that much power over her. 

“Are you ready?”

While she was staring at the bedding, Rhysand came to her side. She nearly jumps. Did he somehow get taller? She thought that, stripped of layers of clothing, he might seem a bit smaller and less intimidating. But he still looks like he could snap her in half. 

Feyre swallows roughly. “I want to be facing you.” She cannot say why she needs to, only that she does. Her sisters faced away, as if anyone could have been laying behind them. Feyre wants to face Rhysand and know. 

He studies her for a moment. “As you wish.” Then he whips the thick blanket off the top of the bed, tossing it carelessly on the floor. That’s all the invitation she’ll get. 

When Feyre climbs into the bed, it smells only of cleanliness and a bit of Rhysand. When he crawls in next to her, the scent increases. A fire ignites in Feyre’s belly. She is surprised the entire bed is not shaking, because she has never felt so unsteady as she clumsily rolls onto her side. 

“Hush,” Rhysand says. “Deep breath.” 

There is no question of following his orders. Here is her Alpha, the one to lead her through these strange feelings and soothe her discomfort. His face is all she can see, his scent all she smells. His hand swallows her thigh as he brings it over his hip. Feyre breaths so rapidly she feels lightheaded.

The hand on her thigh trails up. Ferye shivers as he grazes the skin of her inner thigh. And then he touches her. Pleasure shoots through her, something in her core squeezes and aches. Her hand shoots out to clutch at Rhysand’s shoulder. She needs to rip the shirt away and feel skin.

Rhysand’s hand freezes. They stare at each other, both a little shocked. Feyre should not be touching him like this. But why not? 

Rhysand hauls her closer, so close they breathe into each other’s mouths. The calluses of his hand rasp against her thigh as he drags his fingers back down her thigh, then up again, caressing her before trailing up, up, between her legs. Feyre shudders and gasps. Through half-lidded eyes, she sees Rhysand lean in, eyes locked on her mouth.

One thick finger traces the seam between her legs, sensitive and nearly ticklish. Her eyes threaten to close, overwhelmed by every sensation. But Rhysand’s penetrating violet gaze holds her. She is his prisoner. 

Feyre should be more upset about that, but she is not. She is an Omega in an Alpha’s bed, and there is nothing more right. 

Rhysand’s hand applies more pressure, dipping into her wet heat. Feyre digs her nails into his shoulder, bucking a bit.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, nose brushing hers. “Relax, Omega.”

Then his fingers move, and oh. Feyre would squirm out of his grasp if not for the grip he keeps on her. She does not feel embarrassed by the sounds his fingers make in her slick, nor the way she bucks, nor the audience. She is not aware of anything more than the pleasure her Alpha gives her, the way he smells, the sweet encouragement he offers her. His words fall from his mouth into hers. 

“You were made for this.” His voice is strained. “Made for an Alpha—”

“Yes,” Feyre moans. How can she disagree?

The fingers circling the sensitive spot between her thighs pick up their speed. Unintelligible noises leave Feyre’s lips. She needs— she needs something more. The gland on her neck itches, and unthinkingly she contorts to present her neck. 

She wants the bite there, but Rhysand growls and nips her jaw instead. Feyre cries in dismay, cut off by his lips covering hers. 

If his scent was delicious, the taste of this man is even better. Pleasure bursts in Feyre, but her cry is muffled by Rhysand’s mouth. She squirms, overwhelmed and satisfied but still needing more. She is so empty. He pets her a bit more before his hand is gone, followed by his mouth. 

“No,” she whines.

“Quiet,” Rhysand snaps. He’s looking down, fumbling with his shirt. Sweat gleams on his furrowed brow. Feyre only sees a glimpse of his manhood before he tugs her close. Something hot and thick slips between her legs, easily sliding in the slick that trails down Feyre’s thighs. A surprised gasp leaves her lips. 

Rhysand bares his teeth, holding her close with one arm wrapped around her shoulders and the other hand digging into her ass. Somehow, she ends up with her face pressed into his neck. Then he moves. Hot skin slides against hers. Rhysand’s thick manhood rubs the sensitive flesh between her legs. His hand was pleasurable, but this is sinful. 

Feyre tightens her leg around Rhysand. She needs to be closer. She needs this Alpha to soothe the fire in her, pin her down, fill her with seed and children—

She wants to be his, and make sure the world knows she is kept by him. He does not have a mating gland like she does, but that does not stop her from biting the tendon on his neck. 

Rhysand growls and the world spins. Feyre finds herself on her back, smothered by a man who might weigh as much as two of her. She can barely breath, and when she can all she smells is slick and seed, Rhysand and Feyre. 

Heavy hips slam into hers as Rhysand continues to drive himself through Feyre. She hiccups between cries, face wet with overwhelmed tears. This is not enough. He surrounds her, but he needs to be in her and cure her of the loss Feyre never knew she carried inside. 

Then he rears up. Feyre whimpers at the loss of connection, the sudden cold that intrudes in all the heat. Rhysand looks between her legs, using one hand to wrench her leg up and open. Feyre’s shirt has ridden up to under her breasts, displaying her to his gaze. She watches, mesmerized, as Rhysand takes himself in hand and pumps, gaze locked between Feyre’s legs. His manhood is dark, lined with veins until it bulges at the base, his knot. 

He grunts, continuing to stroke himself as his manhood spits something white— his seed— onto Feyre. She jerks in surprise, only able to watch as the seed splatters the place in between her legs and her lower stomach. 

Her breathing sounds too loud in her ears. She wants to reach out and pull Rhysand back down, let him smother her. This Alpha marked her, but did not claim her. It’s not right. She must have done something incorrectly—

“Good girl,” Rhysand rasps. The hand that was holding her leg open relaxes its grip, stroking. It soothes the anxious part of Feyre. “You did well, Omega.” 

She nods, hissing as Rhysand dips his fingers back between her legs. She bucks as he rubs, mixing slick and seed. Those fingers should dip inside her, that seed belongs in her womb—

“Almost done,” he murmurs, reaching up to paint the mixture on her mating gland. “You’ve been a good girl, just stay still for a little longer.”

It is not an order, but Feyre melts into the bed anyway. She would do anything for his approval. 

Too soon, he tugs her shirt back down over her thighs and stands from the bed. The world comes rushing back in. 

“Rhysand,” Cassian says, an Alpha rumble under lacing his unhappy tone. Fear rockets through Feyre. It is dangerous to be surrounded by unhappy Alphas. 

Rhysand raises a hand. “Later. Get them seen to first.”

“He’s right,” Azriel murmurs. As he did for Elain, he helps Feyre up from the bed. She allows him to, acting as she thinks she ought to but not as she wants to. She gets clean, follows Rhysand’s men to another tent with three simple bed rolls, nods at instructions not to bathe until the morning to let the scent set in.

The night is dark, but cannot shelter them from the crackle of fires outside nor the quiet conversations of men. Inside their small tent, the noise from outside is enough to provide a buffer as the sisters slip into bed, silent. Feyre cannot even meet their eyes.

She does not know what Elain or Nesta might be feeling. She hopes it isn’t a burning desire to jump back into Rhysand’s bed. She hopes they don’t feel like they are being torn apart inside from lust and shame. 

[gloomy-kitty]

𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭'𝐬 𝐚 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧 | 𝐣𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐚 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞

warnings : suicide attempts/thoughts, death, angst, violence

notes : female reader, probably is best read on wattpad solely for format issues like stuff being emphasized bolded etc but it’s okay on here! also i have all the chapters written will be publishing the first two today and each one every. :) this is revised shorter version of my other Joshua fic hope you like it!!

Love...you did not understand the full meaning of that word when you were a child nor did Joshua Rosfield. You would tell one another how much you loved each other but never knew the full weight those words carried. So much happiness was shared between you two. Innocent childhood romance blossomed between you and the Phoenix. It was rumored you'd be married into the Rosfield family. Dominant of Leviathan married to the Dominant of the Phoenix; a prince of Rosaria and princess of the Crystalline Dominion. You hadn't fully understood what marriage meant instead you saw it as a chance for you two to never be apart. The last time you saw Joshua was the night before he left to go to the Phoenix Gate. You made a pinky promise to him you'd come see him again soon but alas that promise would never be fulfilled. It was not until your dearest friend—love left your life when you were but a mere nine years old. It was like a dagger in your heart you barely hard time to process your grief before the news had spread across Valisthea that the Phoenix had died; but to you Joshua Rosfield was more than the Dominant of the Phoenix he was you're only truest dearest friend and the love of your life.

A great sorrow soon followed once you learned the news of Joshua's fate. It seemed like your parents did not care—were incapable of dealing with your immense grief. Only months passed before your parents told you that you'd be married to the Prince of Sanbreque; it was political marriage to help protect the Dominion; no it was to protect your parents pride. You, the Dominion of Levithan were to be married off to the Dominant of Bahamet; your young mind did not understand what exactly was being said to you until you were on a carriage riding off to Oriflamme. Screaming and cries followed behind your wake as you begged for your parents to save you, of course it never came. Oriflamme was a grim place despite its beauty you wanted nothing more than to pass away and live alongside Joshua in the afterlife. Prince Dion seemed to sympathize with you but you closed off your heart to not allow anyone else in despite Dion's kindness towards you.

~•••~

After a particularly hard day you stumbled out of your room onto the private balcony that laid just outside your uncomfortable room. You sobbed uncontrollably as you climbed on top of the way railing shakily standing to you feet as hot tears streamed down your young face. You maintained your balance as you took in your surroundings. Drake's Head blue hue glowed warmly against your soft skin in the dark night. Oriflamme was beautiful but it was no place you wished to be. You wanted nothing more than to die. End this nightmarish life you had been forced to live. Stepping closer to edge you looked down. You were dozens of stories above the city, it would be painless death no doubt. Taking a deep breath you accept your death and stepped off the edge closing your eyes tightly. You waited and waited for death's sweet merciful embrace—for the wind to flow through your hair wildly as you fell to the ground but yet it never came. Instead you felt a tight grip on your wrist, you toppling backwards into a firm chest. "Please _____, don't do that. He wouldn't want you to do that." A gentle voice begged. You turned around to see who had damned you. Your ____ eyes met gentle teary amber hued ones. It was Prince Dion. "W..why?" You cried out. Dion shook his head, "I know things are hard for you right now but in time your heart will heal. I'll always be here for you." He smiled softly. You sobbed collapsing into his arms.

     Years passed and Dion's words had not come true yet; your heart still ached but you only got better at masking the pain that haunted you. Dion and Terence quickly became your main support system, they were really the only people who you could trust and rely on. You had become a respected solider, fighting alongside the Dragoons and using your Dominant abilities whenever required. The people of the Holy Empire had come to finally adore you. they no longer saw you as an outsider or just a weapon to further the Empire's power; you were the beloved Princess of Sanbreque to be married to the beloved Prince Dion. Your kindness was know far throughout Storm.

     It did not take long for your reputation to spread all the way to Dhalmekia. Joshua had been keeping up with your life as best as he could. He was alive and longed to see you once again but knew he couldn't expose his identity. So he lurked in the shadows getting information about how you were doing from second hand sources. It was barely enough to satisfy him but it was enough for the time being. When word about you had spread to a small Dhalmekian village he was passing through he perked up eavesdropping into the conversation between two merchants. "Princess _______ she's a good girl but she's a fool fighting for the Empire. Doesn't she know that Lord Kupka would destroy her? She's challenging him right now on the boarder." The gruff merchant spoke. "Ha! When I was passing through Sanbreque I got stopped by the boarder guards for lookin suspicious. But the Princess was there and told the guards to leave me alone I just had food. So the guards let me go. The damn bitch didn't realize I was carrying weapons for our soldiers. She's an idiot lettin me through." The scruffy merchant laughed loudly the other laughing with him. Joshua felt his blood boiling hearing them talk about you in that way. He marched over, "Don't talk about her like that!" He shouted angrily his fists clenching. The two merchants exchanged a look with one another before turning back to him laughing, "Or what boy? she your girlfriend or somethin? You look like you can barely hold a sword!" They laughed. Joshua without thinking punched one of the merchants across the face sending the man stumbling back. And before Joshua knew it he was fighting multiple men. The market ensued into chaos as they fought. Joshua easily outmaneuvering the older merchants knocking them to the ground. It wasn't until a scream broke the crowd causing them all to stop. "Stop it! You're making yourself look awful!" Jote shouted as she ran into the crowd pulling Joshua out. Jote shouted apologetically as she guided them to their chocobos before the pair quickly left town and did not stop until they were back into Sanbreque territory by then it was nightfall.

     After much scolding from Jote as she patched up his wounds Joshua finally spoke. "Jote they were calling ______ degrading names. I couldn't stand by." He tried defending his actions. The brunette shook her head as she finished bandaging his knuckles, "I understand where you are coming from Your Highness but you mustn't act so recklessly. Things could of turned out bad back there." She sighed softly. Joshua frowned, "Yes but—"

     "No buts your highness. Just use restraint next time." Jote cautioned before standing up to finish their dinner. That night Joshua spent gazing at the far off Drake's Head wondering if you and him were sharing the same sight tonight.

~•••~

     Your arrival back to the capital city, Oriflamme was met with celebration. You had successfully faced off against Titan pushing back Dhalmekian forces further into their territory. It was only your second battle against another Dominant—your first being against Shiva's Dominant when you were only sixteen years old. You rode on top of your white chocobo waving gracefully at the people of Oriflamme. "All this just for pushing back Kupka?" You asked looking at Dion who rode by your side. The prince chuckled shaking his head, "It's to also celebrate your birthday on top of your victory at the boarder." He reminded. You gasped completely forgetting what the day was, your twentieth birthday. "Princess Princess! Here for you!" A young girl shouted as she ran beside your chocobo holding a pink flower. You took it from the girl giving her a warm smile, "Thank you my dear." You said the girl squealed excitedly before running off no doubt back to her mother. Once you finally got to the castle gates you hopped off your chocobo walking towards the crowd to personally thank everyone, Dion joining you. Babies were held in the air as mothers begged for you or Dion's blessing. It was strange still, how highly regarded you two were in the kingdom. The people truly loved both you and Dion. As you began to walk away from the crowd into the castle a man maneuvered his way through the crowd, "______! My lady, a gift for you." He called out handing you a bouquet of flowers. The casualness in which he called out your name made you pause. You took the bouquet and looked up to thank the man but he seemed to already be leaving the front of the crowd. Though you met his gaze for a few seconds before being ushered through the castle gates by the guards.

     Ocean blue eyes...messy blond hair...and a smile you'd never forget. He mouthed something to you but you couldn't catch it. Your eyes were widened in shock...it felt as if you just saw a ghost. That man looked so much like Joshua...at least what you'd expect him to look like now. "Are you okay _____?" Dion asked suddenly snapping you out of your trance. His thin brows knitted together in concern, "You look like you just saw a ghost." He chuckled. You laughed nervously nodding, "Yes I'm okay. Forgive me I must just be tired." You tried to play it off.

     That evening after the celebrations were over—at least for you they were, most of the city was still celebrating and would be all the way into the morning, you headed off to your room after a warm bath. Your room was adorned with the gifts you had received but only one stood out to you, the bouquet the man gave you. You walked over to it gently sliding off the paper that was wrapped around the stems. A note dropped out fluttering to the floor. Leaning down you set aside the flowers to grab the note. As your eyes read the note your breath hitched in your throat and you choked back a sob. 'I'll always be with you, my love. -J' It read.  This is some sick fucking joke! You thought as you ripped the note in half and grabbed the flowers throwing them across the room. Joshua was dead...that man had purposely pulled this sick joke on you. Perhaps he wanted to see your reaction in person which is why he disappeared into the crowd so fast. You dropped to your knees sobbing. Life was so cruel.

     The next couple of years were uneventful at least until the night that Drake's Head fell. It was destroyed, you had your suspicion on who had done it since the Crystal had been threatened once before by Ramuh but Dion had quickly taken care of it. It was a calculated attack since they attackers made sure both you and Dion were not in Oriflamme at the time. It did not take long after until you were back home...in the Crystalline Dominion. Though you felt even more miserable there, your parents had fled the city and into obscurity once the Empire took control over the city. You couldn't bring yourself to care that they had left you again, you were relieved in a way that you wouldn't have to talk to the very people who sold you to Empire. It did not take long before you and Dion were sent off again to separate boarders though the event that happened had left you bed bound of months nearly dead.

     A horrific encounter with Odin had destroyed more than half of the army that were brought with you to the front lines. He attacked unexpectedly at night, leaving you no other choice but to transform into Leviathan. Despite being near the ocean you were absolutely dominated. As fell to the forest floor slowly reverting back to your human form Odin followed you. It wasn't enough that he humiliated you in Leviathan form he took it a step further and humiliated your human body beating you bloody. Though you never understood why he did not finish you off. He left you with the words his strong gripping your chin harshly as he forced you to look him in the eye, "I wanted to see how strong this Leviathan was and you disappointed me. You must grow stronger Princess, for Mythos." Then he dropped you to the ground walking away. A dragoon had found you and you were immediately escorted back to Oriflamme where you began the long healing process. King Barnabas haunted your dreams you were incapable of returning back to the front lines for nearly a year.

                                          ~•••~

You sat in your old room gazing at Drake's Tail boredly. The moonlight and crystal encasing your room in a soft light. "_____, may I come in?" There was a gentle knock at your door. "Mhm." You replied back. Dion stepped in clicking the door shut, "It's ridiculous isn't it?" He muttered. You raised a brow looking at him, "What ever do you mean?" You asked. "Father. Claiming that child is the reason why we annexed the Dominion." Dion spoke with utter disdain his words coming out like venom.

     You shrugged, "Olivier is quite a creepy child. Your wicked step mother isn't any better either." You smirked lazily at him. Dion groaned, "Was she always so corrupt?" He asked taking a seat next to you on the window sill. "She was always nice enough to me, because I was a dominant I presume. And she was always kind to Joshua albeit she was overbearing..but to anyone who she deemed lesser then well...you know how she treats them." You said. Dion sighed not too content with your answer something else weighed on his mind. "What is it?" You asked. "we're being sent off to the front lines once again. Seems like Lady Annabella doesn't want us around. So get some sleep and I'll have Terence come fetch you in the morning." He said standing up. You froze eyes widened, "No I can't." You began. "Don't worry we'll be together this time. I promise." He tried to reassure you. Standing up he paused placing a strong yet gentle hand on your shoulder and gave it a squeeze, "Don't stay up too late reminiscing about the what ifs ______." He mumbled softly before leaving you be. Dion could always read you so well.

     You hated the front lines but for once you were actually relieved to be back on the battlefield. Away from the negative memories your associated with the Dominion, the nobles were beginning to think ill of you for being so weak that you couldn't return to the battlefield but they were wrong you were strong you could persevere . "My lady." A solider spoke as they ran into your tent getting to a knee. You jumped in surprise accidentally pressing too hard on your pen, the ink splattering across the canvas. You groaned, "What?! I told everyone to leave me be while I map out our strategy. This better be good—" you began to rant but were cut off by the soldier. "My lady I apologize. His highness needs you immediately." He said. You raised a brow and quickly stood to your feet walking to Dion's tent. Pushing the curtain open you ducked your head slightly as you walked into the tent, "This better be impo—" you began.

     "_______, look who came back from the dead." Dion motioned with his hand towards someone unfamiliar. You followed his movement and gasped, no it was impassible. You felt your head spinning and you struggled to find your footing, "Wha...no. No...this is some sick joke." You began to mutter holding your head with one hand trying to stabilize yourself. But it was too much for you to handle and you collapsed. The last thing you remembered was being held tightly in someone's arms, "______ it's me." The blond man spoke with a warm smile on his face.

     As you came to your senses you groaned, your eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. "J..Joshua." You whined out. "I'm right here ______. It's okay, just lay down." The voice from earlier said gently holding your hand. Once your vision adjusted you met those familiar calm ocean eyes. It really was him, you weren't dreaming. "I...how are you here?" You asked in disbelief. Though you didn't wait for an answer, immediately pulling him into a hug. You had to confirm he was real—physically here by your side. Once he wrapped his arms around you, you felt the tears stream out. This was too good to be true.

Joshua held you tightly as he felt your body shake from your sobs and he couldn't hold it back anymore. He sobbed alongside you muttering apologies and sweet words in between cries. You kept asking him why..where was he but it was hard to even form a thought no less a sentence. Finally you two were able to calm down and slowly you pulled apart. Joshua's calloused hands cupped your face as he pressed his forehead against yours, "______, I have dreamed of this day for so long. I've missed you so much." He said with a shakey breath his eyes closed. Tears silently streamed down his perfect face. You cupped his face and nodded, "I have too. I felt like I had died the day I heard of your death, nothing felt the same anymore." You sniffled. Your hands reached into his hair as you ran your fingers through the golden locks. "I'm sorry I couldn't see you sooner. I had no other choice it was to protect us both my dear." He explained slowly pulling away from you so he could take a good look at your face. Though he held your hand gently, he felt as if he stopped touching you you may disappear from him. You didn't care why he had suddenly decided to show himself. You did not care how he got to Dion. Whatever the reason was it could wait.

     You gazed into each's other eyes taking in every single feature. You noticed new moles that lightly doted his face. You noticed his chiseled features. He looked so grown; far different from his baby like features you once remembered. Joshua couldn't help but notice how ethereal you looked, you looked as beautiful as the day he first laid eyes on you albeit you were grown now—matured. He noticed the faint scar that graced your cheek, the beauty mark that had appeared on your face, he noticed every single detail and he loved it—you.

You broke the silence as you gazed into his eyes, "Joshua...I love you. Please don't leave me again." You confessed with a sob. Joshua couldn't help but cry once again and nodded, "I love you too ______. I always have and always will." He confessed pulling you into a kiss. But you couldn't help but notice he didn't promise to never leave you again.

next chapter ->

[babyarmybabbles]

Barista Soulmate (Dream Part) a1 d1

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Reader owns a café in Seoul, known for being private, discreet, and delicious among those in the entertainment industry. The owner happens to be the final piece of the well-known 7-member soulmate cluster and global superstars BTS. Not that anyone knows that.

Word Count: 1,034

Notes: This is really just one really long stream of consciousness as I tried to flesh out some ideas. Way too much exposition, not enough BTS lol. It doesn't capture the vibe I want at all, a bit to factual. I'll have to tap into my education in poetry for this when I come back to it lol. I think a lot of the exposition here will be saved for when BTS and Reader actually start talking lol

Warnings: None that I know of?

Masterlist Link <3 | Prev Part Link c: | Next Part Link [not written </3]

You open your eyes to a meadow. Today, the weather is beatific, the soft rustling of the breeze caressing the grass peaceful and calming. The shade of the single massive oak tree shields you from the sun overhead and keeps you comfortable. Warm, but not hot. Cool, but not cold. You look out and can see for forever, if not for the fuzzy edges of your vision and the gentle fog obscuring the ground.

A soft snore comes from your lap and you look down, already smiling indulgently. You’re met with the head of a man, fast asleep and not to wake any time soon. Around you are six other, similarly slumbering, men in various stages of sprawled out and cuddled up on the large picnic blanket.

You don’t remember when you started having this dream. It must of been somewhen during high school, but you never could remember the timing. The meadow hadn’t been a meadow back then, just an endless expanse of foggy white and a ground made of clouds.

The grass still felt like clouds when you laid on it, you knew. It always would, you hoped.

The development of this place had been as gradual as your own growth. The grass had been first, the first time the fog had receded enough to see more than your own hands in front of your face. It must have been around the time you’d discovered your love of baking.

You’d felt so alone and lost back then. Scared of the future, of change and of time. It’d been your grandfather who’d pulled out the dusty cookbook of the grandmother you’d never known and taught you how to create magic with just her ghost by his side. You could never truly express how much you loved him for that.

Baking had saved you, given you love and direction and purpose. The day you’d realized you’d bake for eternity if given the chance, you’d gained ground, literally, in your dream.

It probably meant something you should speak to a therapist about, but this place was yours, and you would never share it. Another snore sounds out, this time from somewhere at your hip.

Well, you correct, you’d share it with your boys. No one else though.

To this day you had no idea who or what these seven men were meant to be, but they were yours. That’s all that really mattered to you here, in this simple space.

You’d found them not terribly long after you’d gained your ground. You’d been walking around, examining the tiny wildflowers that had begun popping up, on a day that the fog had cleared much more than it usually would.

They’d been sprawled all around, none closer than a few feet from the others. You’d found yourself unable to move them, and unwilling to leave them, alone and vulnerable. You’d sat yourself right there in the middle of them all, determined to keep watch over them.

You weren’t sure what you were protecting them from, but you’d been unmovable in your conviction that you would. That was the day your oak tree had begun to grow, long before you had ever dreamed of any sort of sky.

The first time it had rained in your dream had been a terrible affair. Your oak tree had still been just a sapling, offering you no shade from the harsh, ripping wind or the freezing rain. You’d started that dream sobbing into your knees. About what, you couldn’t remember now, but it had felt like the world was ending at the time.

After a moment you’d remembered about the seven men around you and realized that if you felt so horrible in the rain, then they must have too.

You weren’t always able to see the boys. Often they were obscured by the fog that obscured everything else in your dream. That day, in particular, you could barely see your own hands, let alone the boys scattered around.

Still, you’d stumbled around blindly, finding each one and covering them with soft blankets you didn’t remember having that somehow never got wet from the rain. You set up umbrellas to cover their faces and as much of their bodies as you could, and prayed that they’d be able to weather the storm with you this way.

Then you’d gone back to your post in the center of them all, curled up on the ground, and wept.

Ever since then you’d realized you could care for them, even if they only ever moved by some force you didn’t understand. You’d made sure to visit each one where they lay, soothing worry lines and talking about everything and nothing. Every time it stormed you were there to shelter them as best you could, and every sunny day you made sure nothing disturbed their peace.

Over time your oak tree grew, offering you shelter of your own, and the boys migrated closer and closer together by the day, centering on your long-held post between them. There were thousands of millions of tiny caring gestures between you now, though you doubt these men would ever know.

When they’d gotten close enough for you to touch all of them at once without leaving your spot you’d gained your little picnic blanket, an extra layer of comfort to the soft fuzziness calm days in this place bring.

These days your oak tree was so large that you couldn’t wrap around it even if there were three of you. You’d often end up with one man or another in your lap, snuggled into your hip, or otherwise draped over you. The others were often in different arrangements of snuggling amongst themselves or sprawled out in the sunlight. They remained deep in slumber, not one of them stirring for anything.

You absently pet the hair of the man in your lap and earn yourself a contented sigh. You can’t stop yourself from humming the tune of a lullaby as you rest your head against the trunk of the tree at your back.

You feel yourself being lulled to sleep yourself and smile at the prospect of a new day. Your days always started wonderfully when you had this dream.

[bella-mcquinn]

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[batmanmadhouseau]

If Batman found a broken time travel device, re-made it, traveled through the time stream to a few minutes before his parents were murdered, stopped Chill from killing them by violently punching the thug, but not killing him, went back to the time stream before he vanishes and ended up in a different present time line than the one he'd existed in (with another Bruce there), what would the Dark Knight do next? Btw, this scenario takes place shortly after his first outing as the Bat.

In general? He'd probably just watch over the city or change his name or something, maybe even try to find a way back to his own timeline.

My man most likely goes full stalker mode on his own family - he keeps the Batman identity, still watching over the city and seeing how things are different because he fucked up time like a dummy and now has to see just how bad the damage is, but when he realizes there's another version of himself and his parents are alive still he gets obsessed with just watching them from a distance. He basically stalks them 24/7, following them around from a far distance and just staring like a weirdo.

-----

As for this AU? He sees how the city has changed, sees the things that are different and what is the same. He sees how he himself has changed. This time, he doesn't stalk his family like a freak because he knows they aren't his. But he does know what is his - his rogues gallery. He hunts them down one by one, seeing what and who they are in this timeline and how their lives are because there is no Batman in this world. Most of them are the same as they were in his time before he stepped in, but some are very different, in both good and bad ways.

Most shockingly: Joker, who is just regular old Jack Napier here. He never fell into the acid, never became Joker, never lost himself. He never became Batman's greatest failure. And the idea of that is something Batman obsesses over - he needs to see what Joker was, who he was. He needs to see what life was like before. Batman has never been able to figure Joker out, the guy has always been a mystery, so now that there was a chance to really solve that case Batman wasn't going to just turn it down.

So, instead of stalking his own family, he stalks Joker (or, Jack Napier, really).

As he watches this poor guy he still tries to figure out how to get back to his own time. By the time he does, he's learned enough about all the rogues - Joker in particular - that he can't really look at them the same. Whenever he looks at them he sees what they could've been if he hadn't stepped in. The mantel of Batman is now stained by the perception of what could've been. He starts to see everything different; he starts to see things the way Joker would. "We're the same, Batsy, you and I. We both know what it's like to suffer, we both have the power to ruin this world, and we could if we really wanted to! But, we don't, because that'd ruin our fun. Our mistakes guide us in this never ending dance. Each turn and each twist. We both know what it's like to ruin. And, in truth, we find comfort in the ruin. We thrive off of it. Isn't that right, Batsy?" (Yeah, rambled coo-coo bullshit, but still somehow poetic I think.) He feels the need to give up the cowl, to start over.

I wanna say this leads to him taking a long look at himself and becoming a new man who is even more bent on saving these people, but we all know character development isn't Bruce Wayne's strong suit. Most likely he gives up and retires the cape and cowl, disbanding the Bat Family and leaving the Justice League, becoming a recluse in Wayne Manor that no one really knows the reason for.

The rogues run rampant on the city until they get bored. Some of them leave, some of them stay and turn to either smaller or larger lives of crime, and others do all they can to get Batman's attention - that's why they became villains, after all, what else do they have?

So, really, no happy endings for anyone! Yippee!

[kyokimidori]

Harbinger

Hey lovelies, merry Christmas. What better way to celebrate then a little Tomione horror. enjoy

~Kyoki

In the beginning there was only darkness. It was all consuming, the silence deafening. And then there was light, just as it was written in the bible. However, it was not a forgiving light, for with the light, came awareness. Awareness of the state of the world, that a planet that was once full of life, full of beauty, had wasted away to nothing. The wind was harsh as the sky turned black over the barren landscape, thunderous clouds rolling in, filling the air with danger. A feral scream filled the once silent air, chilling anyone who could hear it to the bone. It was the telltale sign that a predator was hunting.

Terror filled the body of a young woman, who had been hiding nearby. She knew that sound, knew that it was too close. She was being hunted. She barely had a second to rise from the position she was in, having been previously filling her water bottle in a nearby stream, when the creature crept out of the woods. No one knew what the creatures were, where they came from, they only knew that they were there, they were dangerous, that they despised life, desired to consume it. A growl escaped the creature, sharp teeth flashing threateningly. Hermione stared at the creature, knowing she needed to run, but her body was frozen, she was unable to move, too terrified of the predator before her.

 This was not the first time that she had encountered these things, though she never got used to it. The first time had been completely terrifying, to one day be walking in the street, on her way to her college classes, minding her own business, then suddenly hearing screams of terror. She was a medical student, so she assumed that it was an accident, that people needed her help, so she had run to do exactly that. Nothing could have prepared her for the scene she stumbled upon.

She had seen many emergencies in her time, she had never been squeamish, but to witness the gore that she had that night.. Well it haunted her every waking moment. She had stumbled upon the scene, shocked by the sheer amounts of blood, of people running away in terror. Why weren't they helping the victim?! She had shouted at someone to call 911 but No one listened to her. Another scream, this one filled with pain had filled the air and Hermione whipped towards the sound only to be confronted with a creature from her very nightmares. Crouching over a little girl who was being eaten alive was the most terrifying creature she had every seen. It was tall, at least seven feet, long and lanky. It looked as if it might have been human , but it was not anymore.

The creature knelt next to the child, long limbs bent so that it was could feast upon the prey. Another scream erupted, and this one got the creatures attention. It whipped towards her, blood drizzling from a mouth that took too much of its face up, a piece of flesh hanging from too sharp teeth. Hermione was shocked as it started to stalk towards her, its eyes glimmering with hunger, but what shocked Hermione into not moving was how human its eyes looked, how intelligent. The monster crouched down, obviously about to pounce on its unsuspecting prey. Luckily it had never gotten the chance. Hermione watched as a silver BMW crashed into the creature, sending it flying. The driver rolled down the window, screaming at her to get inside. She hadn't hesitated, stranger danger be damned. Shed take her chances with the driver verses the horror show that was scrambling up, its long talon like fingers making gouges in the concrete. She had been saved that day.

Unfortunately for her, there was no car to save her, no dark haired passenger asking if she was alright. She was alone. What was worse was the fact that she knew this was the same creature, its eyes glinting with familiarity. Hermione took a step back, water licking at her ankle. The stream wasn't forceful enough to help her escape. She wished Tom was here, the man that had saved her all those months ago, her friend, traveling partner, but tom was missing, had gone for supplies, had been gone for days. She had been staying here, waiting, hoping he would come back. It hadn't been a wise move, she knew that she should have kept moving, it was how she survived, for this creature had been stalking her since that first time. It was the only way they had managed to stay alive. Now, now she was going to die.

The creature seemed to concur with her thoughts, as it flashed her a feral grin, teeth stained red with whatever creature it had made its meal. Hermione closed her eyes, knowing there was no use in running, and waited for her death.  Popping sound filled her ears followed by the creature screaming in what could only be interpreted as pain, causing the bushy haired girl to open her eyes. She wasn't expecting the sight before her, a harpoon sticking out of the creatures chest, where its heart should be. Her eyes drifted down the harpoon, its end attached to a rope in which her savior was tying to a large tree, even as the creature dug frantically at its chest, trying to dig out the iron rod. She was mesmerized by the sight of its forest green blood dripping down gray skin. So much so she could barely hear the screaming. At least until warm hands grasped her shoulder, shaking her as brown eyes bore into her own.

“Hermione, snap out of it. We have to go. Now.”

“Tom?” she was shocked to see he was alive, having assumed he was dead. She nodded as he dragged her past the creature who tried to lunge at them, though was held by the rope, for now. They ran, as fast as they could, making into a car nearby before they heard a loud snapping sound followed by the sound of a tree falling. A feral cry filled the air, the telltale sound of the creature running filling their ears.

——————— In the end it was the blaring of her alarm that awoke her, the sound of that annoying rooster crowing in her ear that saved her from being eaten alive that night. Still, the nightmare jarred her, causing Hermione to glance around the room, her honey brown eyes searching the room frantically for the sign of the creature she had seen, for tom. She found nothing.

“It was a dream” she whispered to herself “ that's all Hermione, just a nightmare.”

It was true, it was a nightmare, and it had gone on for months. It made it hard to sleep, to concentrate. Who wanted to be locked in the nightmares that she was constantly in. A world where she had to fight every day to survive, had to run from a creature that wanted to rip apart her flesh. Her only condolence was Tom. Yes, he was a figment of her imagination, a projection to help her feel safe. She knew that, knew it was sad that she craved the companionship of Tom enough that she traveled to the dream scape every night. The dream was never the same, sometimes she was alone like this last dream, sometimes she had stolen moments alone with Tom. She enjoined those calmer dreams, it kept her coming back, kept her wanting more.

It were those moments, the moments where she had stolen kisses, gentle caresses, that she wished that Tom was a real human being, not a figment of her imagination, a coping mechanism to survive those horrible dreams. Alas, Tom Riddle did not exist. With a heavy heart Hermione got out of bed, heading to the bathroom to get ready for her day.

It was hard to concentrate, it had been all day, her dream kept tormenting her, she and Tom had been in such danger, and she had left him, woke up and abandoned him. She knew it was silly, Tom wasn't real, she would end up dreaming of him again, and he would be fine, safe. She KNEW that, but it didn't stop the fear in her, the desperation that made her want to go back. It was not logical for her to feel such a need to go home, to return to the nightmare land, to reassure herself that Tom was indeed safe and sound, but she did anyways, unable to resist.

It wasn't like her, to skip classes, to feign illness and go home so she could take a nap, all so that she could see a man that wasn't even real. It was pathetic, and if her best friends found out, she was certain what they would say. Harry and Ron would suggest she go to the doctor, while Ron and Harry’s girlfriends,Lavender and Ginny, would suggest they had a girls night to “relieve stress”.

Hermione fell ungracefully into her bed, face first, letting the comfort of her soft mattress envelop her, willing it to swallow her as she closed her eyes, wanting to return to Tom.

“Hermione…”

His voice was a soft whisper, sweet, seductive. Hermione rolled over, on her side, looking for the man whose voice whispered her name, but her bed was empty. She groaned and closed her eyes again. It seemed her imagination was running wild today.

“Hermione, Dove, wake up.”

His voice sounded closer this time, she rolled back over, sitting up, looking around. Was she in a dream? She heard his voice, heard him as if he was right beside her, but he was nowhere to be seen. No, she had to be awake still. Her dreams were never like this, never so vivid. She pinched her arm, though she was not sure why she did so. Even when she was sleeping she felt pain. Pinching herself wouldn't help her decide if she was asleep or awake. She slowly sat up, convinced she was awake. More then likely the voice that she heard was a leak from her dreams. She had more then likely been close to dozing off and Tom’s voice had found her in the space between the world of dreams and reality. Either way, the sound of his voice had jarred her to her very bones, it had felt so real, so close, it filled her very soul with a longing she couldest understand. She knew that she wouldn't be able to sleep now.

Hermione buried her face in her hands, frustrated but also slightly embarrassed and mortified. She, Hermione Jean Granger, had skipped class to go home and take a nap in order to dream about a man who didn't even exist. It was redicous, idiotic, everything she was not.

“Get it together Hermione. Seriously, Tom isn't real.” She muttered before climbing out of bed. She knew that she couldn't sleep now, a nervous energy she couldn't explain was coursing through her body, making her feel as if she had consumed several energy drinks. No, there would be no sleeping anytime soon, so the least she could do was study for the class she had skipped. She got to work, gathering her bag and notes for her study session, packing enough snacks and drinks to tide her over until dinner.

“Hermione”

 She had headed for the door, reaching for the handle and stopping just before her hand reached it. That sounded real. She couldn't make an excuse this time, she was completely awake, yet she heard Toms voice as if he was right behind her. Slowly she turned around, almost expecting to see him behind her, his handsome smile in place, but she only found emptiness.

“Tom?” she felt stupid for saying his name out loud, as if an imaginary person could answer her, but it was instinct, an urge she couldn't fight against. To her surprise she received an answer. It was her name again, but this time she could pinpoint where it was coming from. Slowly she set her bag at the door, walking cautiously towards her floor length mirror. She looked into the reflective glass. She wasn't sure what she was expecting, but her own reflection wasn't it. It blinked at her, looking just as concerned and disappointed as she felt on the inside. Was she cracking? She SWORE she had heard Tom’s voice coming from the mirror, swore even now that she could feel his presence. With a heavy sigh she closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. Perhaps the pressure of school was getting to her, perhaps she needed a break, or more then likely, a therapist.

“Don’t look so solemn Dove. I’m right here”

She dropped her hand from her face, looking up her eyes connecting with those in the mirror. She stared in complete shock at Tom Riddle.Her reflection was nowhere to be seen, instead, it was him, the man who haunted her dreams, the man who she had fallen for. “Tom? How?” she asked watching as his mouth tilted in an amused smile “ You aren't real, you are just a dream”

“Dreams are gateways to our deepest desires Dove. We can make dreams come true.” He placed his hand on the side of the mirror “I have always been real, reaching out to you in the only way I could, through your dreams. I grow tired of only being in your dreams, of not being able to hold you as I yearn to, to be able to protect you like I desire, and it seems you feel the same, other wise You wouldn't have been able to hear me this time.”

“How?” she wasn't sure what she was asking, not quite positive if she even wanted to know.

Tom seemed to know what she was asking, even if she didn't, his eyes glancing down at the delicate silver frame work of the mirror. She followed his gaze, shocked to see what looked like a door handle. She didn't need his instruction, she felt the urge fill her, idnt eve realize her hand had reached out for the silver latch until she pushed it down and pushed the frame ever so slightly. She expected for the mirror to fall, for the glass to shatter and for that to be that, to never see the man from her dreams. Instead the looking glass seemed to disappear, Tom gone completely. And then, one long leg followed by another came through.

She couldn't believe her eyes as he materialized before her, looking as real as she did. She couldn't help it, reaching out to make contact with him, expecting to feel nothing, but contacting the firm warmth of his chest instead. Those piercing eyes stared down at her.

“You don't know how long I have been waiting Hermione. How long I have waited for you, centuries, millina, an eternity.” He murmured to her, one long finger reaching for a strand of hair and tucking it behind her ear” You were always the one I needed. You were my salvation, my savior.” He leaned down leaning so close that she could feel his breath on her face. His words were entrancing, soothing. “ I had stopped believing for awhile, that you would come. That you would free me. Until you found the mirror. I called to you that day, though I didn't think you heard me. You must have, because you took my prison with you. I watched you day after day, learning everything about you Dove, Day and night I would watch, Waiting for the day you freed me. And here it is. I’m free, and it is all thanks to you” He pressed a chaste kiss against her forehead, causing a shiver of anticipation to run through her body. She couldn't see his face, as it was buried in her hair, his breath against her ear. She didn't fight him, trusting him completely. She couldn't understand what was happening, her brain overwhelmed, but it didn't matter.

He chuckled against her ear, and it shook her to the bone. His breath was hot against her ear” It’s almost unfortunate… The thing is Hermione, I Don’t need you anymore.” He took a step back from her, watching her face as the words sank in, as she realized what he meant. His once handsome smile seemed to deform, demitting his face in darkness. She took a step back, fear pulsing through her veins.

“What do you mean?”

“You were the Key Hermione. You were destined to open the door, ever since my father trapped me there. You were destined to release me upon the world. IT has always been you. Unfortunately, that was all my father intended for you to be. A key. Nothing more.” He took another step towards her, watching as she unconsciously stepped away from him, until she had cornered herself against the wall. His height the only thing keeping her from her freedom. He placed a hand on either side of her, ensuring she could not escape.

“Luckily for you, I have always envisioned things differently. Where he has seen a world of light, I have built a world of Darkness. Where you were the key to my prison, and nothing more, I found a piece of Salvation with you. So Dove, you will help me. I have shown you my world, You have embraced it. Now you will help me bring it to fruition.” He leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss against her lips before pulling away “Think of this as a thank you”

She wanted to ask him what he meant, but the words were lost upon her as a searing pain erupted in her body. She fell to the floor, screaming in agony. It felt as if every bone in her body was breaking, as if her very skin was on fire. It felt like torture, and for the first time in her life she wanted to beg for death, for mercy. And just like that it was gone, the pain, the suffering. Slowly she got up, legs shaky, body hunched over Tom’s looking down at him, not sure if she could trust him. He was watching her, morbid fascination on his face. She didn't understand, what was the pain, what wa-.

All thought left her mind as she caught her reflection in the mirror, time ceasing to exist for her. For staring back at her was not the girl with frizzy hair and honey brown eyes, but instead the monster from her dreams. She let out a scream of terror, and she recognized the sound. She looked at Tom, the man she had trusted, the man who had saved her from this very monster. He didn't say a word, only smiled at her.

“Hermione! Are you OK in there?” She recognized that voice, the sound of her best friend, of harry. She watched as the door opened, as Harry walked in, catching sight of the monster before him. Instincts took over as she felt a hunger she couldn't describe, as she leapt at her best friend, her sharp teeth latching onto his neck, as the metallic liquid filled her mouth.

[felixgirll]

João Felix in the Frame of My Story

this is the main character CORA

and of course felix here:

PART 1 BEGGININGS

I moved to London to do my Master's in Psychology, and I got into King's College London—it was a dream come true! London was bustling and full of possibilities, but I couldn't shake the feeling that something extraordinary was waiting for me here, beyond the classroom walls. Little did I know, my life was about to take an unexpected turn when a chance encounter changed everything.  To save you from hearing about the endless stream of assignments, deadlines, and study sessions that came with starting my Master's at King's College London, I'll cut straight to the story of how I met João. It wasn't like how you'd expect—no dramatic love story or coincidental meeting under the soft glow of London streetlights.  

    After a month of adjusting to life in London, my fellow students and I decided we deserved a night to celebrate how far we'd come. With midterms just around the corner, we decided we deserved a stress-free night to relax, let our hair down, and simply enjoy life for a change. We chose a bar in Chelsea for the occasion. I think it was called Adam Handling Chelsea Bar—a cozy and modern spot that felt just right for our night out. The evening was already winding down, but we grabbed a few more drinks to make the most of the night. Everyone was having fun, a little tipsy, laughing, and sharing stories. I don't usually drink much, but that night I allowed myself a bit more. I could feel the buzz, just enough to feel carefree but not too out of it. We were all having a great time—until I spotted him. There he was. João Félix. The Chelsea FC star I had admired for years. I could barely believe my eyes.(even though i always hoped i'd meet him when i moved in London) He looked just as incredible in person—relaxed, confident, with that smile that could make anyone's heart stop. My breath caught, and I tried my best not to stare for too long. I turned to my friends and quietly asked,

  "Should I go talk to him?"

   By that point, they were all a little too far gone on drinks. Without missing a beat, they all cheered and encouraged me.

  "Yes! You should go! What have you got to lose?"

I paused. My heart was racing. What if he thinks i'm crazy ? What if I embarrassed myself? But then a thought crossed my mind: When will I ever have this chance again? I shook off the nerves and told myself, You have a crush on him. The worst that could happen is that he says no. I took another shot, trying to calm my nerves, while my friends cheered me on louder this time. I hoped João hadn't overheard their encouragement as I stood up and made my way toward him. My legs felt shaky, but I knew I couldn't back out now. Taking a deep breath, I walked toward him, unsure of what to expect. My heart was pounding, but I knew this was a moment I wouldn't want to miss.

if you're reading this.. let me know what you think!

[specialagentlokitty]

Enid x reader - protect you

You know how you did one where the reader can change into a cat? Can you do one where the reader can shapeshift into a bear? - @szaswifeyy 💜

Enid had always been curious about what you were, about what you could do.

She knew you were a shapeshifter, that’s as much as anyone knew about you, and much like the werewolves who ran to the forest every full moon, you left not long after them.

But you weren’t a werewolf, that much she knew, you didn’t have the same scent as the others.

So, on this full moon, she decided to follow you into the snowy woods, making sure to keep her distance, but she lost sight of you after the first hour.

“Guess I’ll head back then…” she mumbled.

Stuffed her hands into her pockets and burying her nose into her scarf, she started to wade her way through the snow back to the school before she got caught.

She was disappointed she couldn’t follow you, that she couldn’t find out what you were, but she was kind of glad at the same time.

She felt bad for trying to find out your secret, if you wanted people to know you would tell them right?

While Enid was debating this over in her head, she didn’t hear the sound of something sneaking up on her until a large growl cut through her thoughts.

Frozen in place, Enid stared at the monster in front of her.

The Hyde.

She wanted to run, to hide, but her legs were frozen in place, and the hide took this as it’s chance.

It charged towards her, but it didn’t make it, it was thrown back, blood dripping into the pure white snow.

Standing in front of her was something she never thought she’d see at this time of year.

A brown bear, at least four feet in height, protectively blocking her from the hide as it let out a large growl, pawing it’s feet into the snow.

The Hyde lunged again, getting a good strike on the bears face.

It reared up, standing on its hind legs as it took another swipe for the monster that hurt it, and Enid slowly backed away.

She wasted no time in running as far as her shaky legs could take her before she collapsed underneath a tree.

In the distance she could hear the wolves howling, the Hyde and the bear screaming at one another and fighting.

Curling up on herself, Enid felt tears streaming down her cheeks, begging someone to come out and find her, to bring her back to the school.

She should never have come out here.

After what felt like hours everything went eerily silent, aside from her quiet sobbing.

She froze when she heard the crunching of snow and she shot her head up, coming face to face with the same bear that saved her.

It’s fury was covered in snow, and seemed unusually wet in places, and as she looked down, she saw the blood dripping into the snow, staining it red.

“Oh I’m sorry…”

She brought her hands up to her mouth as she looked at the animal, regret filling her.

It didn’t seemed phased, it simply walked closer and laid down in front of her, looking between her and it’s back.

It took Enid a moment to figure this out.

“Oh…?”

She slowly got up and walked closer, fingers gripping into the bears fur as she climbed on, and once she was sat down, it stood once more.

It began to slowly walk, while Enid gently ran her fingers through the soft brown fur, occasionally looking around the forest to make sure they were safe.

Dawn was near, and the werewolves ran past, looking at the pair of them before they raced back to school while the bear took a soft stroll over to the gates.

The bear stopped in front of them, lowering itself down to let her climb off.

Then she noticed they weren’t alone.

Wednesday and Miss Weems both stood there with the arms crossed.

“What were you thinking?” Weems hissed.

“I.. I’m sorry miss! I just.. I was coming back when the Hyde came…”

Weems whispered something to Wednesday and the goth rushed away while Weems turned back to Enid.

“Are you hurt?” She asked.

“N..no…”

The Weems looked past her.

“Are you?”

“Just a few scratches…”

Enid whipped around, coming face to face with you, and tears stared to fill her eyes again.

You stood there, three large gashes along your side, blood leaking through your fingers, and smaller cuts along your face.

“(Y/N)…”

Enid fell to her knees.

It was you.

You saved her.

You nearly died protecting her.

Giving her a smiled you walked over and dropped yourself to your knees with a small grunt of pain at your rested your forehead against hers.

“You’re hurt because of me…”

“And I’d do it all again, I’m glad you’re okay.” You smiled.

Enid didn’t care about the blood, she pulled you in for a hug cried into your shoulder.

You knew she was out there, it’s why you came rushing to her side.

You fought the Hyde and hurt yourself to protect her because she was foolish enough to leave the school grounds at night.

You simply laughed and rested your chin on her shoulder, closing your eyes.

“Next time, how about we just go for a walk without the fighting?” You laughed weakly.

Enid laughed softly, sniffling a little bit as she pulled away, wiping her tears with the backs of her hands.

“Okay.”

You beamed, and with the help of Weems you stood up and you were escorted away to the medical office to get patched up while Enid was given a detention and sent back to her dorm.

She was still crying, but she also had so many questions she was going to ask you when you were allowed out of the office

[nyxonlive]

"MINEcraft"

"MINEcraft" contains cc! dream, cc! george, cc! sapnap, cc! quackity, cc! wilbur, cc! karl jacobs word count 1198 pronouns she/her (all of them doesn’t say but i slipped up @ karls one tweet so sorry abt that! :() genre fluff summary he never got that protective til' somebody flirts with his girlfriend on valentines day note someone ask me out pls /hj

𝗗𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗠 ⁂ it was a peaceful chill stream til' you join in shit breaks lose ⁂ he was just meeting some new people on an among us lobby having fun and he asks if you can play for one round, reluctantly you agreed i mean who would say no to this boy ⁂ everything was chill except when it was voting time dream spoken out and your voice was heard in the background ⁂ upon hearing your voice rae chanted in " is that y/n? tell her i miss her" chuckling dream said "love? come here for a bit rae misses you" ⁂ sitting on his lap you smiled "hey rae how are you?" before rae can even speak a guy named travis cut her off  (this is a random name not associated w anyone! purely fictional) ⁂ " hey there how are you doing in this beautiful day, beautiful?" knowing full on you were in a relationship with dream, you were trying so hard not to laugh but even so you didn't know what to feel it was a feeling of discomfort and it was just hilarious ⁂ you then heard the loudest wheeze you ever heard from your boyfriend it sounded sarcastic in a way ⁂ "good joke dude, good joke" dream replied only to be met up with travis scoffing " i was serious dude" ⁂ dream broke his act and with a serious voice he says "they're doing wonderful actually cuddled up in my lap so no need to ask them that" he proudly says a grin appearing in his face ⁂ from that sentence you can just hear travis mute whether it was just from his embarrassing himself or him actually thinking he has a chance to ask you out. ⁂ checking twitter you saw a current tweet your boyfriend made ⁂ chucking you messaged him "you're such a dimwit, come here love"

𝗚𝗘𝗢𝗥𝗚𝗘 ⁂ george isn't the person who actually shows his jealousy on stream ⁂ so when a guy just squared up asked you to be his valentine his mood immediately dampens, and chat notice it and was teasing him the whole time ⁂ " chat no im not-CHAT!" he keeps denying it which leads up to chat teasing him even more ⁂ even so the clip which is very obvious that he's pissed off is all over twitter and twitter was having it's own field day that day ⁂ so he can save himself from more embarrassment he just ignores chat moving on to another topic still clearly showing his sour mood ⁂ even though he streams he still thinks about that exact moment when the guy asked you of course you awkwardly said no. ⁂ ending the stream he heard a slight knock on his door opening it he sees you with your arms open, and of course, he dives straight in ⁂ while hugging you carefully play with his hair reassuring him " you know you're my only valentines right love?" reassuring him ⁂ cuddling your phone made a noise, upon opening it you saw a recent tweet he posted ⁂ chucking you glance at him " you're such an idiot" while you both smile at the moment

𝗦𝗔𝗣𝗡𝗔𝗣 ⁂ now if somebody makes a move on you, especially on valentines day it's on sight ⁂ you were just chilling with your face cam on playing minecraft with new people, genuinely enjoying the company ⁂ suddenly that comfort was gone by someone asking you out for valentines day ⁂ awkwardly chuckling you politely declined but the person won't stop bugging you about it ⁂ now when sapnap saw this he wasted no time to go to your stream and kiss your neck and i quote gave you snacks for energy ⁂ " hey darling i brought snacks for you" while kissing your temple ⁂ you felt like a huge boulder on your shoulder was lifted off when sapnap came ⁂ the person muted and didn't speak about it anymore probably embarrassed about it ⁂ checking twitter, your boyfriend besides you grinning at the tweet he made ⁂ "i love you but you're such an idiot" chuckling to yourself while he kisses your forehead

𝗤𝗨𝗔𝗖𝗞𝗜𝗧𝗬 ⁂ you too were just playing jack box with karl and the regular lineup but there was one new creator ⁂ from the start he was annoyingly obnoxious making just that wasn't made to be made ⁂ but it was jack box so you guys let it aside since you guys thought it was jokes ⁂ a question popped up saying "who's your date this 14" upon popping up you saw your name and 'the queen' in both slots ⁂ your friends thinking quackity made that prompt started teasing him on being simp but you immediately know it wasn't him since he stopped making jokes being eerily quiet ⁂ revealing who typed the prompt everyone went quiet, they didn't really know what to say ⁂ from that on quackity became more silent while you kept spamming his dms with reassurance and i love you's ⁂ upon seeing that quackity smiled instantly oh how he loves you so much and the constant reassurance just gave him ⁂ now seeing him hype up the chat still knows the energy radiate awkwardness but will mentally thank u for cheering him up ⁂ posting of you in his car on twitter titled "mi amor"

𝗪𝗜𝗟𝗕𝗨𝗥 ⁂ it was just a chill valentine stream singing and chat watching you be lovesick fools for each other ⁂ half of the chat was complaining about how sweet you both are and the half is just complimenting you both ⁂ it was all fine til' a donation catches wilburs attention ⁂ "hey baby you look great today wanna be my valentine" ⁂ you both started laughing thinking it was just a funny joke til' he keeps donating pestering u both ⁂ wil was about to stop him til' you whisper a joke in his ear "darling we're gonna get rich" laughing he gives you a slight chuckle ⁂ he did turn off donations for that stream as you both just wanted it to be chill and peaceful ⁂ after the stream you both were just cuddling and having fun til' you get a tweet from the username that was a familiar message from a donation saying "im still serious about the offer baby" ⁂ in disgust you both blocked him while wilbur cuddles you, he tweeted out ⁂ " i love you, darling, you know that right?" and of course you do

𝗞𝗔𝗥𝗟 ⁂ it all happened when you posted a selfie of you greeting people happy valentines ⁂ and of course this man started hyping you up on social media and on irl ⁂ though regardless of the support there were so many icky men in your comments and it made you think if you would just delete the post ⁂ but no karl said he'll take care of it and he did by posting a tweet ⁂ you checked the tweet chuckling " you know i love you so much karl right?" ⁂ hiding his head on the crook of your neck " i know you do love and i love you just as well" ⁂ see this man loves you so much as you guys are cuddled up watching cartoons ⁂ despite the world teasing him as being a big simp he doesn't care cause he's your simp

[comfortwriting]

Through Thick and Thin - A.S

Anakin Skywalker x Fem Reader

masterlist, requesting rules, guidelines, taglist

About: When Obi-Wan learns of Anakin's turn to the dark side, he goes to Y/N to try and find him; what he gets instead changes everything and Anakin gets the answers he's been waiting for.

A/N: this is my first time writing in months, please be kind! Need to get back to my flow lol

Word Count: 2057

Warnings: murder, death, blood, mention of parent loss.

"He killed younglings, Y/N!" Obi-Wan stressed, pacing around the room "Tell me where he is, I beg you."

You stared at your husbands Jedi Master, contemplating if you should tell him the truth - betraying your husband and revealing his whereabouts or to lie and protect him. After all, you knew what Obi-Wan was going to do.

You knew that Anakin was capable of taking lives, especially the lives of women and children after he murdered the Tusken Raiders - you weren't afraid of him when he confessed and you certainly didn't shame him for it; you could understand his anger, his hate, his need for revenge.

Anakin's back was facing you, he stared at the wall, hot tears streaming down his face.

"I killed them." he paused, catching his breath "I killed them all. They're dead, every single one of them."

Anakin slowly turned around to face you, his face stained with tears, his eyes glassy and red.

You stared at him, trying not to judge him for what he had done - knowing that if you did, you would be the biggest hypocrite known to man.

"And not just the men," Anakin inched closer to you, shaking his head "but the women and the children too."

You froze.

Women, like you.

Children, like the ones you adored at the Jedi Temple, children you dreamed of having with Anakin.

Part of you died hearing his confession, but you remembered how you felt when you were finally left alone in a room with your fathers killer. You too would've killed his wife and the other women and children in their village. You would wipe them all out.

"They're like animals, and I slaughtered them like animals." Anakin started to raise his voice, his pearly white teeth shining in the light "I hate them!"

Anakin dumped himself to the floor, bringing his knees to his chest, more tears falling from his eyes; you placed your hand against his face, wiping away his tears with your thumb.

"It's okay to feel angry, it's okay to hate them after what they did." You said softly, casting circles on his cheek with your thumb.

"I'm a Jedi," his eyes searched yours, his hand reaching for yours, holding it tightly "I know I'm better than this."

You sighed, kissing his hand softly "Don't let what you've done define you, Ani."

"How can I come back from this?" He asked in frustration "How can I move forward if Obi-Wan is holding me back!"

"You find a way," you encouraged him "even if it means going against him... and the council."

"You're going to kill him, aren't you?" You asked quietly.

Obi-Wan didn't answer, he swallowed hard and looked at the pale lilac carpet.

"Why do I get the feeling you're going to be the death of me?"

"Don't say that Master... You're the closest thing I have to a father... I love you. I don't want to cause you pain."

"He has slain younglings, Y/N! I saw his callousness with my own eyes!" Obi-Wan raised his voice, "Anakin has sided with Palpatine! He's the sith lord!"

You started to laugh, waving your hand.

'Of course, Obi-Wan and the council are pinning this on Palpatine, making him the bad guy.' you thought.

"It's funny," you speak up swinging your right leg over your left knee "you and the council painting Palpatine as evil."

The Jedi Master stared at you in horror and couldn't believe the words coming out of your mouth - his heart splitting into tiny fragments, the young girl he raised was defending the chosen one - the young boy who had grown up with bouts of pent up hate and anger, and turned to the dark side.

"Palpatine is the only person other than me who truly cares for Anakin, who never lectures him for his feelings, who never holds him back."

Obi-Wan felt sick.

"I don't know where he is," you lied "even if I did, I'm not telling you."

"Don't make this harder for me than it needs to be," Obi-Wan warned you, remembering the Jedi Code, pushing his memories with you and Anakin aside.

You didn't flinch, instead, you sat back down on the sofa, staring at the beautiful sparkling wedding ring on your finger.

"I don't want to go back," you sighed, dragging your feet through inches of deep, sparkling snow "I've missed being home."

Anakin nervously fidgeted with the ring box in his pocket, practising his words over and over and over, making sure he got them perfect, his body freezing, his hair full of snowflakes.

"I'm so thankful you came here with me, Ani." You smiled, "My dad would've loved you."

Realising that Anakin wasn't following you, you stopped in your tracks and turned around, finding your boyfriend down on one knee.

"Ani-"

"From the day we met, I have never been able to shake you from my mind and heart."  

Your eyes filled with tears and your goggles started to steam up.

"I never got to ask for your father's blessing, but that won't stop me."

You focused on the ring, realising it was the same one that your father always showed you as a child, with his plan to give to you in hopes that you would pass it on to your children.

"Y/N, my love, will you marry me?"

You nodded your head, removing your glove, exposing your warm skin to the freezing air that instantly started to nip at your skin.

"Yes," you smiled, more tears falling from your eyes "I will marry you, Anakin."

"Your father would be ashamed of you, you're becoming the very thing he hated, you're sleeping with the enemy!"

The rage you once felt started to ignite deep inside you as Obi-Wan tried to sour one of the greatest moments of your life.

You stood up, and walked over to him, staring him down.

"You know better than to bring up my father, Obi-Wan."

Anakin tried to catch his breath, stumbling backwards in extreme pain, the sound of your screams ringing in his ears. You were hurt, probably dead with the amount of pain Anakin was experiencing.

His heart started pounding, his ears ringing, feeling sick to his stomach - you couldn't be... could you? who could've done this? why?

"I have these nightmares..." Anakin opened up to you "what I see, happens."

You stroked Anakin's head, your fingertips massaging his scalp, your lips brushing against his neck.

"I had them about my mother before she died, I wasn't strong enough to save her."

You stopped massaging his scalp, and pulled away, looking into his blue eyes - full of tears that pooled up over his waterline.

"You are strong and you get even stronger the more you learn and experience," you paused "I was strong - not strong enough to save my dad, but now I probably would've had a better chance of doing so. We move forward."

Your fiance nodded his head, pursing his lips and kissing you softly, still emotional when he pulled away from the kiss.

"I don't want to dream of you like that- I don't want the nightmares - I can't... I can't lose you..."

You shook your head, cupping Anakin's face in your hands "You won't lose me, Ani."

Anakin didn't know but he would soon find out, killing the last of the separatist leaders on Mustafar, he boarded his ETA-2 Jedi Starfighter and set off in a hurry; desperate to find you.

You were in utter shock.

Your hands trembling, your forehead burning, the room closing in on you yet expanding at the same time and your throat like sandpaper from your constant screaming.

It all happened so fast - Obi-Wan striking for you, your leg being severed off faster than you could realise until you fell down and all you could feel was agonising pain, and the smell of burning flesh filling the room, the blood boiling in your veins.

You sat on the floor, your back propped up against the back of the sofa, dragging yourself across the floor proved difficult since you stopped practising your upper body workouts.

Looking across the room, your eyes landed on Obi-Wan, no longer breathing - how you did it? you didn't know - you managed to take control, more power than you ever had in your life, your fury spitting inside of you begging for release.

Do you feel guilty? Now that you think about it, no.

Obi-Wan attempted to end your life and he would take Anakin's life too.

Bringing the back of your hand up to your forehead, you wiped away the beads of sweat, your chest rising and falling.

Anakin jumped out of his Starfighter, his hood shielding his face, his long strides bringing him closer and closer to you, his eyes no longer a beautiful shade of blue, but like the two suns on Tatooine during sunset.

She can't be. Y/N can't be dead. Not now. Not ever.

Getting closer and closer, Anakin could sense death, pain, and suffering.

The door swung open as Anakin stormed in, searching for you frantically until his eyes landed on your amputated leg in the middle of the room, his face drained of all its colour.

Your screams came back to him, the searing sound of Obi-Wan's lightsaber severing your leg, the loud thud as you fell to the floor and then the walls shaking, everything shaking, your yells, Obi-Wan's voice breaking before his body dropped lifelessly to the floor.

Anakin glanced over to his Jedi Masters lifeless body and stared, his eyes burning holes into Obi-Wans back, wanting nothing more than to revive him just so he could have the pleasure of murdering him for what he had done to you.

You peeked your head out from behind the sofa, "Ani," you winced, "I'm back here."

Anakin rushed to your side, his eyes pouring with tears as he searched your face and body for more injuries; the sight of your wound hurt him deeply.

How could Obi-Wan do this to you? How could anyone do such a thing to the chosen one's wife?

"Are you-are you-"

"Ani," you tried to calm him down breathlessly "just my leg, nothing-nothing else."

Anakin scooped you into his arms as gently as he could, you held onto him for support, moving one of your arms around his neck, your tear-stained face hiding in his chest, his heartbeat thumping against your ear comforting you.

"I thought you were dead," Anakin croaked, carrying you away, his robes hiding you in his arms.

"Obi-Wan came to me, he needed to know where you were so he could kill you," you admitted, "he told me that you killed younglings."

Anakin slowed down, you pulled your head out of his chest and looked into his eyes.

"Did you believe him?" Anakin asked, his tone harsh.

You paused for a moment, slightly afraid that Anakin might drop you.

"I know that you have killed children before," you replied quietly, "he told me that Palpatine is the sith lord... that you are his apprentice-"

"What do you think of Palpatine?" Anakin's eyes rummaged through yours.

She can't turn against me - she won't. I won't let her.

"I think that he's the only other person aside from me who has ever encouraged you to show your emotions, to use them to make you stronger."

Anakin's eyes fixed on your face like glue "what if he is the sith lord, and I have joined him? what would you think of me"

You sighed, closing your eyes, imagining the perfect life with your husband; you and him never in harms way, children of your own growing up without a clue of what it's like to lose a parent, to be a slave.

"I would encourage you to overthrow him, and together you and I can rule the galaxy,"

You opened your eyes, everything coming back to you, your father's death, how it felt to slaughter a whole family.

"make things the way we want them to be."

Anakin gripped onto you tightly, a prideful grin spreading across his face.

"Everyone turned against me but you." He said softly, kissing you.

"What if you hate what I become?" your boyfriend stressed, pacing up and down.

"I could never hate you, Anakin," you walked over to him, linking your arm with his metal one"I'll be with you through thick and thin."

tags: @autobotrosestark